
Glass _i/l2^ 
Book T/j^ 
CopyrightN^ i 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



ROUGHING IT 
WITH BOYS 



Actual Experiences of Boys at 

Summer and Winter Camps 

in the Maine Woods 



G. W. HINCKLEY 

General Supervisor, Good Will Association, 
Hinckley, Maine. 



New York: 124 East 28th Street 
London: 47 Paternoster Row, E.G. 



SKs.ot 



Copyright, 1913, by 

The Intebnational Committee of 

YoiTNG Men's Christian Associations 



DEC 27 191 



:i,AS6i332 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I. The Passing of the Camp I 

II. A Winter Hike to Sebasticook Lake .... 4 

III. That Tramp to Cobbosseecontee 49 

IV. Through the Snow to Sebec 76 

V. Summer Days at Sebec Lake 129 

VI. Memoirs of a Camp for Two 172 

VII. Letters from a Camp by the Sea 196 

VIII. My Thirteenth Trip 210 

IX. The Year after the Thirteenth 221 

X. At Pleasant Pond 230 

XL A Camp Chowder 257 



PREFACE 

A tale of real travel may not be as exciting as 
a fictitious story of adventure ; each has its value. 
A more skilful writer might have made the follow- 
ing pages bristle with thrilling adventure, but the 
camp life of real boys is made up of rather common- 
place incidents, as the days come and go. It may 
be best that boys understand that successful camp 
life, for boys and their leaders, does not necessarily 
consist of hair-breadth escapes and blood-curdling 
incidents. 

There is no fiction in this book. The boys who 
were part of the camp life of these pages were real 
boys and are still living. The chapters were first 
printed in a monthly publication with no thought 
that they would ever be put in permanent form. 
They are records of experiences so pleasant that 
the thought of them quickens my blood, and fills 
me with determination to make opportunities for 
other outings with real boys. 

G. W. Hinckley. 
Hinckley, Maine, 
December, 191 3. 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 

Early in the year I asked a man how many boys 
in the United States would camp out in the sum- 
mer of 1 9 10, His reply was interesting. After 
careful thought he said that two hundred and fifty 
thousand boys would spend some part of the sum- 
mer in camp, the periods varying from a few days 
to a number of weeks; that this was a conserva- 
tive estimate and should it be proven that twice 
two hundred and fifty thousand was nearer the ex- 
act number, he would not be surprised. The figures 
are worth attention because they are given by a 
man who, on account of his position, his work and 
his knowledge of what is in progress among boys, 
is better qualified to estimate than any other person 
in the country. His estimate does not include the 
multitudes who are sleeping in tents, in their front 
yards or at sanatoriums, in a fight with the "White 
Plague," nor does it include adults at all. 

It is a healthy trend. Our race began its career 
in the open. After a time it began to build houses. 
The houses were made closer and closer, tighter 
and tighter, until air was shut out. If a man were 
feeble, it was understood that the most dangerous 
thing he could do was to breathe air out-of-doors 



2 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

after sunset until the sun was well into the heavens 
again; night air was believed to be deadly though 
it was all that was available. The race was dying; 
dying of its own stupidity; dying from in-doorness. 

Then there arose apostles of fresh air; they 
preached the doctrine of out-doorness ; the race was 
getting its breath again, and coming into its own. 

But the camp — the real thing — is passing; it 
makes a man smile to hear men and boys tell about 
camping out ; it smacks of absurdity. 

The way men do it now is thus: Someone gets 
the fever to camp out; he reads much about camp 
life and his enthusiasm rises; he scans the adver- 
tisements of men who have " Camps" and he opens 
correspondence. In process of time all arrange- 
ments have been made; the man is going to ''camp 
out." After a day's journey — more or less — in a 
parlor car — he arrives at the terminal; the porter 
helps him from the car, carries his luggage to the 
boat and receives his tip. Another porter takes 
him in charge until the wharf is reached. A boy 
from the camp is on the wharf to meet him, and 
he is escorted up a plank walk to the " Camp. " It 
is built of logs, shingled, fitted with windows and 
doors; out of his "room" opens a bath with open 
plumbing, porcelain tub and hot and cold water; 
the camp is lighted with electricity or some new 
illuminating gas. In another end of the "camp" 
is the dining room where he is served with the same 
varieties of food that he would get at the best hotel 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 3 

in the city and served in the same manner. He 
goes fishing; the guide rows the boat, lands the 
fish, maintains his own rugged health and iron 
muscle; the man who is "camping" sits and sees 
it done. "It is just glorious to camp out, you 
know; and really there are no great hardships." 
It is the up-to-date way of doing things; one must 
have all modern conveniences if he is going into 
"camp." 

But why call it camping? And why deceive 
your self with the thought that you are engaged in 
the nerve building, muscle hardening, life pro- 
longing pastime of camping out? It is a counter- 
feit, a farce, and should be called by some other 
name; call it an "outing" but not camping. 

Many boys' camps are conducted on the same 
general principle. It seems to be assumed that a 
boy does not know how to do any one of a hundred 
things that would prove a positive benefit ; and that 
because he does not know he should never learn. 

Three years ago, I camped out with four or five 
boys; it was the real thing. We had taken our 
blankets, cooking utensils and all needed imple- 
ments with us; we had cut some poles, fitted them 
to the tent and put the canvas in position. Then 
I left the boys alone for an hour saying to them : 

"Make a fireplace and build a fire, stir up some 
griddle-cakes, and have them ready when I return; 
I'll be hungry" 

When I returned the boys had done what I 



4 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

told them to do; they had done it according to 
their best knowledge, and I judge they had worked 
Uke beavers. A hole had been dug in the ground 
about fourteen inches deep; it was round as a 
saucer and three feet in diameter. In this hole 
they had built a fire, piled on dry wood until 
they had a mass of flames and coals as broad 
as the hole but completely filling it and round- 
ing it up. It was immense. One of the boys 
had stirred the batter; he was holding a short- 
handled frying-pan in his hand and trying to cook 
the griddle-cakes in it! The fire was so hot that 
he could not hold the pan near it for more than 
three or four pujse beats at a time and he was 
thrusting the pan toward the fire, drawing it back 
again, and each time blowing on his scorched hand. 
He was red in the face and beads of sweat were 
on his forehead. As he extended the pan towards 
the fire and drew it back to blow on his hand again 
and again he was saying : f 

"Gracious (puff, puff) I didn't know it was 
(puff, puff) such (puff, puff) hot work. Guess 
(puff) I'll burn my hands (puff, puff) off and — " 

"See here," I interposed, "that's not the way 
to do it; I supposed you knew how. I forgot that 
you had never really camped before. Look at this. ' ' 

And then in three minutes the thing was done 
correctly — two or three stones for a fireplace, a 
stick first shaved and then whittled for shavings; 
a lighted match, a little blaze, some dry twigs 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 5 

added; a few small sticks, and the same boy was 
cooking the griddle-cakes to ain appetizing brown. 
He had learned how not to do it ; he had also learned 
how to do it. 

Once three boys camped out; this also was the 
genuine thing. They were not a thousand miles 
from home nor one-tenth of that distance, but they 
were far enough so that the change was complete; 
and they were isolated. They pitched the tent 
under a heavy growth of hemlocks; the shade was 
heavy and at night the darkness was intense. Here 
was one good lesson, for though they have camped 
since they never again made that mistake. The 
location of the tent gave them ample opportuinity 
to observe the effect of shade and sunlight as well 
as to study the growth of mildew and the decay of 
vegetation so that the mistake had in it some valu- 
able lessons for them. 

The water in the pond was good for some pur- 
poses but they had read more or less about the peril 
in poor drinking water and resolved not to drink it. 
They wanted to live ; but if they were going to die 
they preferred death from thirst to death by ty- 
phoid — it would be cleaner and sooner ended. As 
they must have good water and the nearest farm 
house with its usual supply was a long way off, the 
youthful trio must needs find a spring near camp; 
this they did, and the crystal water ran through the 
crevice in a rock. 

Their provisions consisted chiefly of yellow corn- 



6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

meal, salt pork and beans; the nearest field, by ar- 
rangement with its owner, yielded them some green 
corn of the common farm variety but it was wonder- 
fully sweet to those fellows; a few berries could be 
gathered in the openings in the woods. The chief 
diet was fish ; the only fish in the pond were horn- 
pout and yellow perch, with an occasional pickerel, 
but as a man can live longer on yellow perch than 
on any other fish without becoming weary of it, 
these boys were not conscious of monotony in their 
fare. It was monotonous — fearfully so; but they 
did not know it, because it was food which they 
themselves had procured by conquest in the 
water. 

There were one or two variations from the regular 
diet of fried fish. One came when a pickerel nearly 
two feet long was captured by one of the boys. It 
was not big enough to meet the requirements of 
Izaak Walton's recipe which begins: ''Take a 
pickerel three feet long" but it was too large to be 
cooked in the ordinary way in the frying-pans ; that 
is, the boys said it was. Cutting it into pieces so it 
would go into the fat would rob it of all its dignity, 
and it was conceded that such a splendid specimen 
was entitled to special treatment. It took a long 
time to decide what to do with this monarch of the 
pond. Then a little hole was dug a foot and a half 
deep in the ground ; a fire was built in it and abun- 
dant fuel furnished. After an hour the coals were 
taken out and the hole carefully cleared of ashes; 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 7 

green corn husks were laid on the hot bottom of 
the hole ; the only piece of brown paper in camp was 
soaked in cold water and wrapped about the fish; 
it was laid in the hole, green corn husks were placed 
over it and these were covered with half an inch 
of earth. Then a fire was built over it and kept 
burning for an hour. When taken out and opened, 
the pickerel was found to be cooked to perfection; 
the boys vowed they had never eaten anything so 
fine; and, though they did not think of it, they had 
been learning something worth knowing, as the 
cooking was in process. 

A still greater triumph came to these same boys 
when one of them shot something. It will never be 
known just what it was, save that it was a bird and 
web-footed. Canvas-back ducks are web-footed; 
this was not a canvas-back. Loons are web-footed ; 
this was not a loon. The successful hunter was 
regarded as a hero by his comrades for a full day ; 
it took two days, however, to decide how the prize 
should be cooked. Several councils were held, but 
no agreement reached ; a meal prepared in a wrangle 
is not likely to be eaten in peace. But finally, when 
the web-footed trophy was sure to spoil for lack of 
attention, it was amicably arranged that it should 
be prepared for the table thus : 

It was picked and drawn ; into it was put a layer 
of bread crumbs made from the remnants of the one 
loaf of bread brought into camp; then a layer of 
green corn shaved finely from the cob, butter and 



8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

salt; another layer of crumbs, another of green 
corn, butter and salt, and so on to the end. 

When the bird was full or "stuffed" as the boys 
declared, it was laid on its back in the kettle; two 
squirrels previously shot and dressed were laid in 
the bottom of the kettle, one on each side of the 
fowl; the whole was covered with water from the 
spring and set to boiling. There were many sur- 
mises as to how it would come out. Just before the 
kettle was taken off, the water was thickened with 
more bread crumbs and green corn, butter was 
added and the thing was done. 

Oh, that I knew the name of that fowl, something 
between a canvas-back duck and a loon! Oh, that 
I knew just the proportions of bird and squirrel, 
of green corn and crumbs, of salt, pepper and butter ; 
for those who put the component parts together, 
built the fire, and watched the kettle boiling de- 
clare — and I have implicit confidence in their ut- 
terances — that the dish was fit for a king, yes fit 
for two kings, and that the like was never before 
and will not be again. Who could have cooked 
that mess so much to their liking as the boys them- 
selves? And while they were doing it they were 
doing something else also — something worth doing, 
for they were mastering little details of out-door 
chemistry. 

These boys slept on beds of boughs; from soon 
after dusk until sunrise they were as motionless as 
logs and as unconscious ; they woke each morning 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 9 

to a new day of conquest. If the larder were empty 
more fish must be caught ; if more than was needed 
were caught and cooked, the hole in the ground 
covered with green boughs kept them cool till the 
next day; if the anchor-rope was broken it must 
be spliced and there was a way to do it: when the 
anchor was finally lost a substitute had to be pro- 
vided; when the oar-lock dropped overboard a 
make-shift had to be adopted; when the tent 
leaked without apparent reason, the cause had to 
be searched out in the night and the offending twig 
which, made heavy by dampness, rested upon the 
canvass, had to be removed from the overhanging 
branch ; when the rain shortened the tent ropes and 
pulled the stakes out of the ground, threatening 
to let the canvas down over their heads they 
learned by experience the wisdom of attending to 
tent ropes in time; when the flood came in the 
night and to their surprise the trench around the 
tent filled with rain water and overflowed to their 
bough beds, it took them a long time to discover 
that a stone had in some way been rolled into the 
trench and had caused the trouble ; when the kind- 
lings which could easily have been put under the 
tent before dark were water-soaked in the morning, 
and in all the land — in all their little woodsy-world 
— there was not a dry sliver or shaving, they learned 
two things; first, not to get caught in that way 
again ; and second, what to do if they did. 

They learned that there are two ways of washing 



10 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

dishes in camp; first to use hot water, or second, to 
take them to the shore and give them a scrubbing 
with sand and mud; that matches cannot be kept 
dry and serviceable in a pocket and that instead of 
a paper box an empty bottle with a cork is always 
a safe receptacle for them; that in the dark in a 
strange place one can find the matches if they are 
kept beside a ticking watch, for the tick guides; 
that the time to fish is before eleven o'clock in the 
morning or after four o'clock in the afternoon; that 
there are ways of knowing what o'clock it is with- 
out clock or watch if the sun be shining, and other 
things more than I need to mention. 

They were in touch with nature ; life was full of 
interest and profit; the camp experiences were a 
factor in the development of character. They were 
acquiring habits of observation ; they were learning 
to do things when they needed to be done; they 
were becoming self-confident, self-reliant, and effi- 
cient. They did things, working on them till they 
were done, even though the sun had set and the day 
had been long. Somehow, it is the long day men 
who have accomplished in this world the things 
that have lived ; eight-hour micn may be good ma- 
chines but they do not achieve. If the day comes 
when no man will labor or study beyond eight hours 
per day, the world's progress will be at a perpetual 
end ; there will be no further achievement. 

Camp life develops the achieving ability; it is 
the basis of ruggedness; it is without an equal in 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP II 

Stimulating manly qualities in boys. There are 
some who will not believe this because they have 
seen so many boys "camp" who showed no prog- 
ress as a result. But the camp should not be held 
responsible for all the inane things which are done 
in the name of "camping out." Life at a summer 
hotel is not camping; even though the hotel be 
built of logs or of canvas, and too many "camps," 
so called, are shorn of all the factors which have 
commended camping to the thoughtful. 

A few years ago, I had a party of boys in camp; 
a cottage near the tent was also available and the 
food was cooked in it. Several boys in the party 
preferred to sleep in the close chambers of the cot- 
tage; others slept in the tent until a wet night came 
and then deserted and went under a roof. For my- 
self it was a joy to lie down under the canvas each 
night; I thought then, and I still think, that the 
boys who stood by the tent could have been selected 
by a stranger at a moment's notice. They had 
camped before and showed the benefit of former 
experiences. 

The word "camp" is suggestive. It is pure 
Anglo-Saxon and means a "battle" or a "conflict;" 
this is the primitive meaning. Real camp life is a 
battle, a conflict; if you choose, it is a conquest. 
Those who enter it conquer or are conquered ; those 
who conquer are ready for enterprise, for successful 
conflict in other fields. 

But the camp is passing. Too much is done for 



12 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the boys in many cases, and they are not left to 
their own resources as much as is good for them ; it 
should hardly be called ' ' camping out. ' ' 

Many of the camps are so large that things must 
be done on the same scale as at a good-sized hotel ; 
for all practical purposes the boys might as well 
be at a hotel if only it were in the woods or an open 
field. It is quite possible to breathe fresh air at 
an opened chamber window; it is quite possible to 
close a tent so tight that the air will become quickly 
poisoned ; it is quite possible for a boy to spend days 
and weeks in a " camp " with little or no benefit. 

A comparatively new thing has come into sudden 
prominence; it is the "summer camp" robbed of 
those features which make the real camp worth 
while. I am told that one boys' camp had many 
dishes to wash; it took two men to "do" them. 
A dish washing machine was purchased at a cost of 
$200; now it takes two men to run the machine. 

Thousands of dollars have been expended in 
"camps" this year upon tennis courts, base-ball 
fields, and other forms of amusement which the 
boys could have at their homes, or in any village, 
or at a summer hotel; it is quite customary for the 
leaders of a camp to show visitors their splendid 
equipment, and many of them are splendid. There 
are real benefits accruing to boys who spend the 
summer, or a part of it, at such places, but the 
benefits are those which come from out-door life 
anywhere ; in the meantime the woods are calling to 



THE PASSING OF THE CAMP 13 

boys to enjoy the test and development of primitive 
ways of living; the boys are not responding because 
an easier — even a luxurious — substitute is offered. 

A little roughing it for the boy is the finest of all 
experiences; he is not likely to take it, even for his 
own good, so long as the softer thing is popularized 
and made the only thing in sight. Real camping — 
the conquest with natural forces, the quest for one's 
own food, the battle against odds in primitive living, 
though undertaken for fun and change and personal 
benefit — is passing. 



II 

A WINTER HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 

The Good Will boys had been talking for a long 
time about a hike; they had asked that it be in the 
spring vacation, which, in Somerset County, Maine, 
comes in March, and the month of March is winter. 
Many of the boys who wanted to go on this win- 
ter outing were living in the "Buckminster" — a 
rambling residence for older boys at Good Will. 

I told the boys that I had heard of a lumber- 
man's camp twelve miles northwest of us, where we 
could spend several days; that twelve miles would 
be a good walk and that doubtless we could get 
much benefit from it. The boys looked at each 
other and though they did not say it in words, 
something in the air spoke like this: 

"Think of it; only twelve miles!" 

"There is another possibility," I added. "We 
can have the use of two cottages, owned by Hubert 
Turner, at North Newport, on the shore of Sebasti- 
cook Lake. These cottages are a few rods apart; 
one will accommodate ten and the other has 
accommodations for, eight. The cottages are 
twenty-seven miles from here; but we can 'boost' 
you seven miles to Canaan village and the rest of 
the distance must be made on foot." 

14 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 1 5 

"That's the place!" exclaimed a number of the 
boys, and to this all present agreed. Before the 
little meeting broke up it was settled that Will 
Mack should lead one of the groups and I the 
other. 

On account of lameness I was to go by railroad, 
taking one boy with me to assist in opening the 
cottages and Will Mack was to lead the main party 
across country. 

'Who shall go?" was still a question of much 
importance and one that needed to be settled 
speedily lest some of the hopeful ones be unnecessar- 
ily disappointed. ''Thack" had a wistful look on 
his face but I challenged him. He had come to 
Good Will three years before through some mis- 
understanding as to the kind of boys who are 
accepted. Before coming to us he had suffered 
from hemorrhages from the nose for months until 
on one occasion two physicians worked all night 
to keep him from bleeding to death. These 
hemorrhages had been accompanied by a cough 
which Thack told me, when we were travelling 
together on the train to Good Will, had kept him 
and everybody else in the house awake at night. 
Soon after coming to Good Will these symptoms 
disappeared; but after being with us two years a 
new difficulty set in; he submitted to an operation 
for appendicitis and it was not yet a year since the 
operation was performed. The boys, however, 
knew Thack well and everyone of them said, 



1 6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"Thack can make that trip all right." So he was 
accepted. 

"Ducker" I also challenged. But he said he 
could do it and the boys sustained him and so 
Ducker was elected, although he had shown a 
chalky skin when he had come to us a year before 
and for six months, at lea§t, appearances were 
decidedly against him: 

"John Rill" wanted to go; but the spring before 
he had made the fourteen mile tramp to East Pond 
on the "Relay Picnic." He had a good time, but, 
next day on the way home he lay down beside a 
cemetery and it was currently reported that John, 
while in that position, had despondent thoughts due 
to weariness. So John Rill was rejected; though 
he says to this day it stands to reason that if 
little "David Wood" could make the trip he could 
have done it himself. But David Wood though 
challenged by myself at first was finally accepted. 

The other boys, who were present at the meeting 
or whose names were on the list, would pass without 
question, and everything seemed favorable for the 
trip until a snowstorm came on, blocking the 
roads and making travel by team dangerous or 
impossible. 

"They say that it's no use trying to get to 
Canaan with a horse," was the report, and so the 
boys decided to start on foot at four-thirty in the 
morning; they believed that they could reach the 
camp by two o'clock in the afternoon unless greatly 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 1 7 

delayed by drifted roads. There would be some 
advantages in starting later, for, if they did not 
go until seven, they could have their usual amount 
of sleep, a warm breakfast and daylight for the 
early part of the journey; but, on the other hand, if 
the sun should be warm in the middle of the day 
the snow would be soft, and travelling over it more 
difficult and uncomfortable. The sentiment was 
overwhelmingly in favor of the early start. It 
was deliberately decided that they would reach 
Canaan village by seven o'clock and there is a 
hotel at Canaan; beyond that place there is no 
hotel to be passed, if they kept to the upper route, 
and no place where they could hope for a meal 
until they reached the camp at Sebasticook Lake. 
But suppose there were hotels; so long as there was 
not money enough in the pockets of the crowd to 
pay for breakfast for three boys what did it matter 
whether there were hotels or no hotels along the 
route? 

The management of such a trip is a compara- 
tively easy matter with Good Will boys because of 
their knowledge of home duties ; most of them can 
make beds as well as a woman ; some of them can 
cook a good meal, including biscuit, cakes and pies; 
there are few of the age of those in this party who 
cannot be trusted to "slick up" and "set things to 
rights" whenever called upon for such service. 

This explains why, when the list of names was 
taken and, beginning at the top, was divided into 

3 



l8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

sections of three names each, in the order in which 
they came, every section contained the name of at 
least one fairly good cook. It was in this way and 
with such simple organization that the camp was 
to be run; the work was to be done and the food 
cooked by the boys themselves ; no further organiza- 
tion was to be called for or allowed. 

It was a hopeful group, therefore, that started 
from the Buckminster at four- twenty A. M., on 
that tramp to Sebasticook Lake. 

After the members of the party had been duly 
elected I faced another problem, because it was 
necessary for me to select one of the boys to go with 
me by rail to Corinna where Mr. Turner would meet 
us and take us by team four miles to the cottage 
where the week was to be spent. They were a 
sturdy lot of fellows, each one was ready for some- 
thing strenuous, and I disliked to break into the 
ranks. But when I made my request known to 
"Hinks" he cheerfully consented to accompany me 
and help get ready for the sixteen pilgrims who 
were to come overland on foot. Hinks had cooked 
for me on other occasions and I have no fault to 
find with his housekeeping or culinary skill. But 
it happened that only a few hours before we were 
to start, I learned that "Franz" was troubled with 
a weak ankle and that for two days he had been 
wearing a brace, in anticipation of the trip. 

"I had feared that my ankle would give out" 
he said after I had arranged for him to take Hinks' 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 19 

place, ' 'but I made up my mind that I would start 
anyway." 

So Hinks joined the pedestrians while Franz 
loaded down with packages and bundles, including 
a checker-board for those who might care to while 
away an hour in tests of skill, a mince pie that the 
good cook in Buckminster had sent along for my 
especial benefit and such extra garments as I might 
need, accompanied me on the train. There was 
one other package in Franz' care which added some- 
what to the burden of his journey, the contents of 
which he was in happy ignorance, — a long slender 
package which I had told Ed MacDonald, the 
bookkeeper, to make up, containing a few Roman 
candles and sky rockets, left over from the last 
Fourth of July celebration and which I fancied 
might add to our enjoyment. 

" In case my side catches more fish than Mack's," 
I had said to MacDonald, the bookkeeper, when I 
gave him instructions, "I may want to celebrate 
the victory by a display." 

When, later on, the package was opened I found 
that he had added a pack of small firecrackers, — 
the five cents a pack variety, one tin box of red-fire 
and another of the same size warranted to burn 
"blue blazes." These were to be of greater service 
in camp, later on, than MacDonald supposed or 
than I suspected when I found them in the 
package. 

It is not easy to find a man more thoughtful of 



20 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

his guests than is Mr. Turner, in whose cottages we 
were to spend the week and so we were not surprised 
to learn that he had kept fires in both cottages all 
that day and a part of the day before in order that 
everything might be warm and comfortable for us. 
Franz and I had little to do that first night in camp 
for we did not reach it till eight o'clock in the even- 
ing, and, after preparing a simple repast, we were 
soon in bed; but we did feel that it was incumbent 
upon us to have a good meal ready for the boys 
when they should arrive, although I had told them 
that I should allow them no food after such a long 
tramp until they had been in camp at least half an 
hour. As a matter of fact it was forty-five minutes 
after their arrival before they tasted food of any 
kind although everything was in readiness, cooked 
and steaming hot, an hour before they reached the 
cottages. 

"Those boys will have an awful hard time" said 
Mr. Turner as he brought over some supplies from 
his home, the morning after Franz and I arrived. 
"If they had only known it, they could save several 
miles by going from Palmyra to Newport village 
and then coming across the lake on the ice. If 
they come around to the north they will find three 
or four miles of drifted roads that haven't been 
broken out, for there is only a little travel over them 
anyway. It's a pity they didn't know." 

"Do this," I said. "Get back to the house as 
quickly as you can. You say that you don't know 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 21 

any one in Palmyra. Call up some trader over 
there and ask him if he lives on the main road 
through the village ; when 3^ou get a man on the line 
that lives on the main street tell him to watch out 
for sixteen young fellows who will be travelling 
eastward ; say that they are Good Will boys. Tell 
him to say to the boys that I want them to go 
to Newport village and that they can easily get 
instructions there how to find me at Turner's 
Cove. 

''That's a fine thing," I said to Franz, as Mr. 
Turner started homeward. "It will save the fel- 
low^s a lot of hard footing and get them here earlier. 
It's now ten o'clock; they will be here by two any- 
way, possibly by one, and we must have everything 
ready and hot. It's three and a half miles from 
that village yonder to this cottage, — a straight 
line across the lake. See?" 

So Franz and I spent the morning in the cottage; 
now glancing out of the window, across the lake, 
as though w^atching for the coming of friends but 
at the same time, pretending that we "didn't 
expect them yet;" now giving our attention to the 
things cooking on the stove in the little kitchen, 
putting in wood and poking ashes out of the grate 
to help the draft; now reading a chapter out of 
Hornaday's " Camp-fires in the Canadian Rockies, " 
which I had brought along, or a paragraph or two 
from the Boston paper of the previous day's issue; 
now arranging dishes on the table — the white 



22 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

dishes that matched so perfectly the shining white 
oilcloth. 

It was half-past one when I said: 

"Franz, come here a minute. Look toward the 
village. Do you see something away over there 
just moving along a little?" 

Franz could see it. 

"Now it's parted and it looks like two. I think 
that's our crowd. The fellows are either in a group 
walking in single file or else," — and I added this 
reluctantly, — "or else half of the fellows have 
dropped out by the way." 

"What's that over there?" said Franz; "it looks 
as much like a crowd of fellows as that does," and 
he pointed far to the south shore of the lake. 

"I don't know," I replied, "it can't be our boys. 
They were told to keep together. That first bunch 
seems to be coming off the north shore, the bunch 
that you point out seems to be coming from the 
south shore a mile at least from the first one." 

"Yes," said Franz, "and look over there." 

"It beats me," I said. "And yet you can see 
now that they are our fellows, though why they are 
coming from all directions I can't tell." This was 
said some ten minutes after we had spied the dark 
object on the white snow in the distance. 

We stood and watched just as people have stood 
on the shore in the summertime and watched white- 
winged ships as they sailed; just as men watched 
the marching of soldiers and wondered what the 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 23 

next movement would be; just as we have watched 
the flight of birds to the north in spring, to the south 
in autumn ; we watched till we were sure they were 
our "crowd," and then we waited till they came 
nearer, — their forms growing more distinct. 

"That's Pat and Ducker on ahead," said Franz, 
as the first two came within hearing distance. 

"Ducker!" I said. "I believe you, Franz, but 
he's one of the boys I challenged; I didn't believe 
he'd stand the trip and here he is in the front rank." 

Soon after our first discovery of the boys in the 
distance and near the opposite shore of the lake, 
it began to grow dark, — not because it was sunset, 
for it was yet early in the afternoon, but the grey 
clouds which had overspread the sky had thickened 
in the northwest and we had heard one distinct 
rumble of distant thunder. 

"I don't know just what these clouds mean," 
I said to Franz, "but I hope it's only rain; if it's 
a snow-storm that's coming and if it breaks soon 
there's not a fellow on the lake that will get off 
alive if it lasts long. If it snows thick they'll 
wander and wander and wander on the ice and be 
dead before they can be found. I wish they'd 
hurry; yes, Franz, I wish they'd hurry." 

"I don't believe they can," said Franz, quietly, 
"they are too tired." 

To my relief the cloud had only thunder, lightning 
and rain instead of the thick snow-storm that I 
had feared and the shower broke just as the boys 



24 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

began to arrive. When the first couple got near 
enough for a greeting I shouted, at the top of my 
voice; "Welcome, fellows, welcome! Say, how's 
the walking?" 

"Welcome," cried Pat, "you say welcome; 
but I wouldn't walk across this old lake again if 
you'd give it to me, no, I'd die first, — yes, I'd die. 
We've been walking all over this old lake for the 
last three hours; there didn't anybody know where 
you were nor where Turner's Cove was nor anything 
else. I'm dead tired, — yes, I am; and I'm half 
starved. Have you got anything to eat?" 

"This Cove's been here for the last thousand 
years, at least, Pat," I said; "somebody ought to 
have known where it was." 

"Oh, I'm dead tired," cried Ducker as he fol- 
lowed Pat, reached the veranda, and reeled over on 
his back on the floor. "Can't you give a fellow 
something to eat? I's never so tired in my life." 

While this confab was in progress the second 
bunch drew near, — a couple made up of Arey and 
David Wood. 

"If there isn't David Wood!" I exclaimed; 
"another of the fellows that I doubted and he 
among the first to arrive." 

Then came a group of four or five led by Thack 
in a white sweater, — the same Thack that I had 
challenged that afternoon when we were deciding 
at the Buckminster who should be in the party. 

It was only a few minutes then to the time when 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 25 

the floor of the cottage was covered with boys, 
for nearly all seemed to prefer to sit or lie on the 
hardwood floor; each telling how he felt; how no- 
body seemed to know where Turner's Cove was; 
how their feet were wet and their muscles sore and 
their stomachs empty. 

"Ducker was so dead tired," said one, "that he 
undertook to ask where Turner's Cove was and 
he said, 'Can you tell me how to get to Cover's 
Turn?'" 

"All I've eaten today is just some apples," 
said another. "Say, we stopped at one place to 
see if they'd sell us some apples; a girl brought out 
about a peck of 'em and we asked her how much 
they'd be. She said, 'They won't be anything; 
papa ain't to home today.'" 

"One man that we met asked us where we were 
from and we told him we came from Good Will 
Farm," said one of the prostrate pedestrians. 
"What made you leave," he said, "don't you like 
it there?" 

So some told of experiences and others of aches 
and voids until I said : 

"Well, fellows, I'm glad you are all here; that 
not one has fallen out by the way; that you didn't 
get lost in a snow-storm on this lake, for, as I told 
Franz, after you got in sight, if, after you got out 
into the middle of the lake a thick storm had come 
on for the night, we never would have seen any of 
you alive again." 



26 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

After clearing the tables of nearly all the food 
which Franz and I had prepared for them and 
declaring that it was the best meal they had ever 
eaten the boys distributed themselves through the 
cottages, — some in easy chairs and on the sofa on 
the first floor, some on the beds in the sleeping 
rooms above. They had been in camp just an 
hour and fifteen minutes, when a couple of boys in 
one of the chambers began to softly sing one of 
the oldest of the Good Will songs: — 

" We were chopping hemlock trees." 

Someone else joined in the chorus; the boys on 
the first floor of the cottage took up the song; then 
those who were up-stairs came down, gathering 
around the open fire ; someone passed the little 
Good Will song-books and before another hour had 
gone by every song had been sung through from 
beginning to end. 

"I feel first-class, now," said Thack, as he 
straightened up and smote his white sweater on 
the breast with both hands. 

" I never felt better in my life," said David Wood, 
and Clark jumped over the back of a chair three 
times in succession, "just to see if his legs were 
limber." 

This journey to the shores of Sebasticook was 
for the purpose of fishing through the ice; at least, 
this was the avowed purpose of the trip although, 
so far as I know, there was not a real fisherman 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 2J 

among the boys. We came near having fish for 
dinner on two separate days; once on Monday, 
when I asked Mr. Turner to buy us enough in Cor- 
inna village, four miles distant, for a chowder, and he 
returned with the report that there were no fish in 
that place; and again, when on Wednesday, three 
boys walked across the lake to Newport village to 
buy fish and a supply of peanuts and they returned 
with the report that fish could be bought in that 
place only on Fridays. But, notwithstanding the 
depleted condition of the refrigerators in these 
markets the fishing in the villages was fully as good 
as it was on the lake through the ice, for not one 
sign of fin or scale was seen while we were in camp. 
Still, there were other things to do. The cutting 
of half a dozen holes through the ice, with a bor- 
rowed chisel, was not a long task, and little time 
w^as spent in attending to the traps. As the snow 
about the cottages w^as deep — three feet, south of 
Camp Comfort and very soft, so that a fair-sized 
boy would sink to his hips, — not much outdoor 
sport was possible. So, aside from the climbing 
of trees on the shore, occasional marches on the ice, 
from one of which trips the boys returned marching 
single file following a torn and faded cambric flag 
waved aloft by a leader, and a few visits to the 
fish lines, the time was spent indoors — it could not 
well be otherwise. There was just one flurry of 
excitement over fishing and that was when Pussy 
had said, "I'm going out to see if we've caught any 



28 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

fish," and, putting on his cap, left the cottage. He 
went first to the hole farthest north, and his move- 
ments at this time were not watched by the boys. 
Now these lines were so set that if a fish should by 
any chance get caught on a hook, a small red flag 
would fly up as a signal that below the ice at that 
quarter something was doing; but no such signal 
had appeared and no one had expected it. Pussy 
was near the hole farthest south when someone in 
the cottage said: 

"There's a red flag up at the north hole." 

"Shout to Pussy!" said three or four boys at 
once, and the door was quickly opened. 

"There's a flag up!" was shouted across the ice, 
and Pussy turned toward the north and seemed 
to wait instructions. 

"Run, you lazy bones, run! and pull him out!" 

Pussy first took long, slow strides and then as 
the shouts from the cottage increased in volume 
and urgency, he broke into a trot. He reached the 
hole and pulled up the line, but alas, there was 
nothing on the end save a hook and a piece of salt 
pork. It was the only real fishing episode that 
came into our lives during the week, and later Pussy 
explained it thus: 

"I thought I'd like to know how it would seem, 
so I stuck the flag up when I was at the hole so 
that you fellows could see it!" 

But other things were done, even though there 
was no odor of fish in the camp. It was early 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE ^9 

decided that Wallace's "Lure of the Labrador 
Wild" should be read evenings; that there should 
be a religious service Sunday afternoon or early 
evening at which a Bible reading should be given 
for the instruction and profit of the boys ; that there 
should be a debate upon the question whether the 
return journey should be made in the daytime or by 
moonlight, which question should finally be decided 
by popular vote Wednesday afternoon, after the 
arguments on both sides had been given a fair hear- 
ing; that on Monday evening the Camp Comfort 
boys should give an entertainment in their cottage 
for the delectation and amusement of the White 
House boys and, that on Wednesday evening the 
White House crowd should return the courtesy 
and give at their cottage an entertainment for the 
amusement and instruction of Camp Comfort 
boys; that on Tuesday evening there should be in 
Camp Comfort a grand banquet of which every 
member of the party should partake and that there 
should be almost no end of songs and speech- 
making. 

In such a camp, where only the plainest of food 
was supposed to be served, the preparation of a 
banquet was not an easy matter and just what the 
nature of the two entertainments would be was a 
problem for the entire camp; these were events 
which interested us all and preparations for each 
one of them were under way at an early date. 

''But what can we have at a banquet out here?" 



30 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

asked one of the boys. "We haven't got much in 
camp for such an affair." 

"We can have fried bacon," said one. 

"Yes, and mashed potatoes," said another. 

"And I will get Mrs. Turner to make me a birth- 
day cake," I added. 

"A birthday cake!" exclaimed Pat, "you was 
born in July; you wasn't born in, " 

"It doesn't matter if I was born in July," I 
replied. "If a man wants a birthday cake twice 
or three times a year there's no law opposing it and 
if you fellows get to doubting it too much, likely 
as not I'll order two cakes instead of one just to 
show you that I mean business." 

There was no further opposition to the cake and 
in due time the following note was dispatched to 
the farmhouse: 

"Dear Madam: 

Please make one birthday cake large enough to be cut into 
eighteen good-sized pieces, unless you prefer to make two 
smaller loaves. If you happen to have any powdered sugar 
in the house please frost the cake. 

Respectfully yours — " 

This surprising menu was finally evolved: First 
course: fried bacon and mashed potatoes, with 
biscuit and butter; second course: blanc mange; 
third course: birthday cake; fourth course: roast 
peanuts and cereal coffee; fifth course: Baldwin 
apples; and to match each course, such appetites 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 31 

as are found only in the simple, sturdy life of a 
real winter camp. 

The reading of the "Lure of the Labrador Wild" 
was begun Saturday afternoon, and after supper 
there was a call for more of the story. So we 
followed the fortunes of those three brave men, — 
Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., Dillon Wallace and the 
faithful ''George," on their sad journey and 
through their strange, disheartening experiences. 
It was near bedtime when, pausing for a moment 
while wood was put on the fire, I glanced forward 
into the chapters that were to come. Scanning a 
few pages I said: 

"Boys, we are to have a Bible reading tomorrow 
evening. In the afternoon while service is in prog- 
ress in the Chapel at Good Will I intend reading 
chapters to you out of this book, and I venture to 
say that no sermon preached in New England to- 
morrow will be more impressive than what we will 
hear and learn," and soon after this remark we went 
to our beds. 

The next afternoon. Wish us looked across the 
room to me from the corner where he was ensconced 
near the fire. 

"What do you suppose they are doing in the 
Chapel at Good Will now?" he asked. "Do you 
know what time it is?" 

It was ten minutes past two and I said : " Wishus, 
the service is in progress at this very moment and 



32 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

I suspect that just now they are singing. What do 
you suppose they will sing this afternoon?" 

"It might be 'How Firm a Foundation,'" said 
Wishus; and we all joined in singing that sacred 
hymn. 

"What else?" I asked, as the last line was sung. 
"What else would they be likely to sing?" 

"It might be 'My Faith Looks up to Thee,' " 
said one of the boys, "they sing it often;" and so 
that loved hymin and " Rock of Ages" with one or 
two others entered into our impromptu service of 
song. 

Then we took up the narrative of Hubbard's 
journey in the wilds of Labrador. None of 
us had read the book, but some of our number 
knew that Hubbard was to die. We followed their 
fortunes until it seemed as though we knew those 
three men, — Hubbard, Wallace and "George." 
There was a breathless silence in camp that, alone, 
profoundly impressed me as I continued to read. 
We had reached the account of that Sunday, the 
twenty-seventh day of October, when Wallace 
returned from a trip into the woods, whither he 
had gone leaving Hubbard in the camp alone. 
"As I approached," says Wallace, "stepping noise- 
lessly on the mossy carpet of the forest I saw Hub- 
bard sitting alone by the bright burning fire, mend- 
ing his moccasins. Something in his attitude made 
me pause ; he was bare-headed and his long, unkempt 
hair hung half-way down to his shoulders. As he 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 33 

sat there in the red glow of the fire with the somber 
wood beyond and the lonely stretch of lake below 
and I took note of his emaciated form and his fea- 
tures so haggard and drawn, I seemed for the first 
time to realize fully the condition to which the 
boy had been brought by his sufferings. And while 
I stood there, still unobserved, I heard him hum- 
ming softly to himself: 

" Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in Thee." 

"How Strangely the old hymn sounded among 
those solitudes! After a little I again started to 
advance, and as I stepped upon a dry branch 
Hubbard stopped his singing and looked up quickly. 

" 'Wallace,' he exclaimed, ' I am glad to see you! 
George and I have been having a long Sunday talk 
and we have 

It seemed as though every one of my hearers 
had come to love those three men. There was a 
great tug at my heart, a breaking of my voice and 
in the hope that I might go on with the reading I 
held the book silently for a moment. We could 
almost hear each others hearts beat in sympathy 
for those sufferers in the far north. Unable to 
read aloud further that saddest of all narratives of 
modern times, I passed the book to Clark. He took 
it from my hand and continued reading to the end 
of the chapter. 

''I don't see how Clark could ever read that 



34 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

aloud," said one of the boys the next day. "It 
was so sad that I could hardly stand it myself." 

Sunday evening the Bible reading was given, — a 
topic that took us from Genesis to Revelation, an 
hour which we will not forget — and before we retired 
we had followed Leonidas Hubbard, Jr.'s lifeless 
body from the wilds of Labrador to its last resting 
place in Haverstraw, N. Y., and breathed a sigh of 
relief, I fancy, at the thought that there is an end 
to all human suffering and disappointment. 

Oh, Hubbard ; the story of thy suffering has made 
me strong; thy faith was beautiful; thy patience 
was beyond my understanding. 

It is pleasant to note the different uses to which 
a given article may be devoted when men and boys 
are really put to it and it is surprising what serv- 
ice the most commonplace articles may render if 
drafted by determined spirits. It was the middle 
of Monday afternoon when the strong cord that 
had been tied about our bundles of bedding, brought 
into camp for our comfort, was stretched across 
the sitting-room. The blankets, which I submit 
were never intended for any such purpose, were 
brought down from the chambers and fastened to 
the cord so that they separated the north third of 
the sitting-room, giving a space for the entertainers, 
one door opening into the kitchen at the east end 
and a window opening to the veranda at the other. 
The lid, which I assume was intended to remain 
always at its place in the top of the stove, was 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 35 

attached to the Hd-Hfter and carried to the veranda, 
where the powder for blue and red fire could be 
spread on it, held close to the window, and burned 
for the illuminating of the tableaux; an eight foot 
log, some twelve inches in diameter, was taken 
into the cottage to be used in one of the most stir- 
ring scenes in the entertainment, taking the place 
of a cannon. Other prosaic articles were drafted 
into service, for much had been undertaken and the 
resources of our camp were slender. When the 
time came, every one of the eight persons for 
whom '' the show had been got up " was in his place, 
curious, critical and expectant 

When the "overture" had been furnished by the 
graphophone from the farmhouse, with the under- 
standing that twenty-four more selections were to 
follow in the course of the evening, the curtain 
rose, or rather, the suspended blankets were pushed 
aside, and a male quartet sang a song so full of 
localisms and personalities that it must have been 
written for the occasion. It went to the tune of 
"When Johnny Comes Marching Home," and 
ran about as follows: 

"The White House boys are a jolly crowd, 
They are, they are; 

The White House boys are a jolly crowd, 
They are, they are; 

They've caught no fish, 

But we don't wish, 

To touch them in their tender spot; 

But we're very glad to welcome them here tonight. 



36 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

The White House boys make quite good cooks, 

Quite good, quite good. 
The White House boys. make quite good cooks, 
Quite good, quite good. 
We cannot hope to please them all 
As they drop in for a friendly call 
But we'll do the very best that we can do." 

In response to an encore another verse was 
added : 

"We gave a show on Monday night. 

We did, we did; 
We gave a show on Monday night, 

We did, we did; 
We quite outshowed the White House crowd 
We sang so gaily, high and loud, 
But on Wednesday night they'll do the best they can." 

After much other music, a three-part charade 
which had been dignified by advertisement as a 
three-act drama, held the attention of the audience. 
The first part, a scene in which three or four boys 
were planning for a camp next summer and in 
which many things, wise and otherwise, were said, 
gave a slight clue to what was to follow; the second 
scene, in which "Chick," in his law office, had 
much trouble with a deaf caller, who was told 
repeatedly to "Come in," but failed to hear the 
summons, and made a lot of bother by continued 
knocking, threw much light on the word that was 
being acted; but the third, a scene in a fort with 
David Wood, as sentinel, pacing up and down with 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 37 

a broomstick for a rifle, and Clark in command, 
was a dead give-away. 

The attack on the fort by a Spanish warship 
which Clark had sailing up the lake, was boldly 
repulsed by Clark's forces. The log having been 
aimed deliberately, and the commander's order to 
fire given, there was the report of a fire-cracker on 
the veranda, which, when we consider the tremen- 
dous noise which might be expected from a cannon 
of its size, might be regarded as an anti-climax. 
The setting off of the rest of the pack of fire-crackers 
on the veranda represented the cannonading of 
the enemy and the audience knew then that the 
charade was "Camp-come-fort." 

In the series of tableaux which followed — the 
"Saving of the Hfe of Captain John Smith by Po- 
cahontas," "The Dying Gladiator" and "After 
the Battle" — the red and blue fire which MacDon- 
ald had put into the package for Franz to lug had a 
great effect and the old cambric flag, picked up by 
the boys in the morning, had a prominent place. 

"It was a great show," said the White House 
boys when it was all over; "we can't begin to come 
up to it." 

But when Thursday evening came, from the 
time the borrowed graphophone belched forth its 
first selection, until the last note had been struck, 
the White House boys held their own, and the Camp 
Comfort audience of ten souls listened and ap- 
plauded, 



38 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Personalities are as fair for one side as the other 
and so, when the opening song was sung by a male 
trio, and found to contain references of a strong 
personal character, the audience could only listen 
and meditate. To the tune of " Marching Through 
Georgia" went the song of greeting: 

"What a motley crowd it is that's gathered here tonight, 
Coming from Camp Comfort, — that is almost out of sight; 
Coming through the storm and over snow-drifts deep and 
white 
While we shall try to entertain you. 
Chorus. 
Cheer up, cheer up, you did the best you could; 
Cheer up, cheer up, we really thought you would: 
Now that you are seated we will show what we can do 
While you sit silent and watch us. 

Tableaux, songs and dialogues are all right in their place, 
But we'll have you understand that we are in this race; 
We will show you scenes tonight most marvelous for grace 
While we shall try to entertain you. 
Chorus. 
Warren, Puss and Whitten seem to be out on a lark; 
We think the very same is true of Nason and of Clark; 
You'll hear some wise and witty things if you'll sit still and 
hark, 
While we shall try to entertain you." 
Chorus. 

There were four acts to the charade, with Gleason 
taking the part of the "Goody-good boy" in the 
first, — a boy unmercifully plagued by a young 
rascal; with Downey in the second scene welcom- 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 39 

ing a young man to his law office for a conference 
over a father's will about which there had been 
much litigation; with Arey in the third, expressing 
surprise in a country gocery store at the way prices 
had "riz" till everything was too high for his pock- 
etbook; and a school scene for the close that made 
it clear that "Good Will High School" was what 
the entertainers had in mind. 

A series of tableaux, which under the glow of the 
red fire, were really fine, closed the entertainment, 
aside from the rest of the twenty-five selections on 
the graphophone which were warranted to be en- 
tirely different from those heard on Monday even- 
ing. 

'' It was fine; there really wasn't much to choose 
between the two evenings!" was the verdict of the 
audience. 

"The gentlemen will please come to order," 
said the speaker of the House the next afternoon at 
two o'clock, in the sitting room of Camp Comfort. 
The boys had all gathered for the Legislative Ses- 
sion. After some trivial preliminaries had been 
attended to, the resolution which had been tabled 
three days before was taken up for discussion. It 
read; 

''Resolved: that the return journey from camp to 
Good Will be made between the setting and the 
rising of the sun." 

"Mr. Speaker!" exclaimed two or three boys at 
once, — "Mr. Speaker!" 



40 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"The gentleman from Good Will," said the 
speaker, and Mack proceeded to open the debate. 
He was followed by other speakers who, for one 
reason and another, wished to be heard upon the 
question. Various arguments were urged in favor 
of returning home in the night. 

It was claimed that in the daytime the sun shin- 
ing on the snow made it blinding to the eyes and 
this painful experience could be avoided if the trip 
were under the soft light of the moon; on the way 
over, the boys had eaten apples at the farmhouses 
and drunk much cold water — two bad things for 
pedestrians to do and all this could be avoided by a 
night journey; from eight o'clock till five the snow 
grew soft each day under the sun's rays and the 
walking grew harder all the time, while in the night 
the snow would be steadily hardening in the cold 
and walking would grow easier ; the lower tempera- 
ture of night was favorable to exercise while the 
warmth of mid-day resulted in perspiration and 
consequent discomfort as well as danger of taking 
cold; these and other arguments were presented in 
favor of the night journey. 

"And then there is another reason that has not 
been mentioned," said one of the debaters. "We 
all know that something has happened to Bildad's 
pants and he can't go home in the daytime. He 
will have to go in the dark, anyway, and our party 
ought not to be separated; therefore we'll all have 
to go at night," 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 41 

There was no mistaking the temper of the meet- 
ing; the majority were in favor of the shades of 
night for a return, but the other side was to be 
heard from ; it had something to say. 

Pat and Arey were the two who opposed the 
resolution. They stated clearly and calmly that 
the darkness of night would be depressing; that a 
kind of monotony on the way over had been re- 
lieved by meeting people in sleighs or on sleds, 
and asking them how far it was to the next place, 
and other questions; that it would be impossible 
to make the journey without some noise, anyway, 
and the people, if waked in the night by singing or 
shouting, would say, "That's them fellows going 
back" and it would give the people an unfavorable 
impression of Good Will ; if a boy should give out, 
there would be some chance of his being overtaken 
by a team and helped along in the day, while at 
night such help would be altogether improbable; 
nobody had been hurt by the apples which had 
been so freely and kindly given to them on the 
way over, but such a treat on the way back was 
out of the question, unless the trip should be by 
daylight. 

"It may be," said one of the youthful debaters, 
"that Bildad's pants are not fit for the journey; 
but you fellows better remember that there's a 
dog at about every farmhouse on the way home. 
If we go back in the night the dogs will get after 
us, and before we get half way home there won't 



42 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

be a pair of pants in the crowd fit to be seen; we'll 
all be as badly off as Bildad." 

When all had been said, ballots cast and the polls 
closed, a careful count was made and it was found 
that the affirmative had won, the vote being fifteen 
to two, and so the boys were to walk home in the 
night. 

The dictionary says that a banquet is a "sump- 
tuous feast." That is what we planned. There 
are many things expected at banquets which were 
out of the question in the camp. Our resources 
were exceedingly limited. But who shall say that 
blue points and soups and salads and creams and 
confections are necessary for a sumptuous feast? 
There are many things to be. considered. It is 
difficult to draw the line. There is a variety of 
standards, too; on this particular occasion we set a 
standard of our own, and we had much pleasure in 
the doing of it. 

After Will Mack, the leader of the White House 
crowd, had responded to the request to go away 
from Camp Comfort with his boys and to keep 
away for two hours or till notified that the banquet 
was ready, preparations began. The two long 
tables that had stood parallel in our dining and 
living room were placed so as to form an L, the 
white oil-cloth that covered them was treated to 
an extra rubbing and polishing which gave the 
whole place an expectant and appetizing air. 

The white plates and cups were laid on the white 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 43 

cloth and they seemed to be unusually white; a 
sprig of arbor-vitae was placed by each plate 
and by this time the atmosphere of the place 
seemed to be changed. The two birthday cakes, 
resplendent in white frosting, were placed on the 
white oilcloth and these, also, were wreathed with 
arbor-vitae. The two white dishes, with red 
apples, and wreathed with other sprigs of the same 
evergreen, added brilliancy to the appearance of 
the table. The two dishes of peanuts, fresh from 
the oven, were placed in position and given a fin- 
ishing touch of evergreen. The nine young caterers 
in Camp Comfort, — I was only a witness to all 
this — were getting enthusiastic and each was 
having some part in the preparation. 

The scent of Baldwin apples was in the air; the 
odor of crisp bacon floated in from the kitchen ; so 
did the fragrance of boiling coffee. The kettle of 
blanc mange was half buried in a snow-drift lest it 
should not get cool in time to be served in its regular 
course. 

The boys over at the White House were making 
alot of noise by this time, while waiting; the lamps, 
with freshly polished chimneys were lighted and 
put in their places; chairs were set and then the 
door was opened and the banquet was on! A 
feast? If you doubt it, ask the boys. Sumptuous? 
Well, there is a variety of standards. 

And after all, the interest centered not in the 
food but in what was to follow. A program had 



44 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

been prepared and there were to be many speeches ; 
the boys had worked on them half of the afternoon ; 
some were to make their first effort. 

" I can't go with you; I've got to get my speech 
ready," and other confessions of a feeling of unreadi- 
ness were heard that day. 

When evening came Will Mack was toastmaster. 
The toasts and speakers were as follows: 

"The Joys of Tramping" — Clark. 

"Tramping it Alone" — Hinks. 

"The Way We Dress" — Gleason. 

"Manly Sports in Camp" — ^Arey. 

"Our Fishes and our Fisherman" — Wishus. 

"Sports at the White House" — Davis. 

"Sports at Camp Comfort" — Rawson. 

"Our Daily Program in Camp" — Whitten. 

"Our Music and Musicians" — Wood. 

"Our Friends on the Road" — Ducker. 

"Our Cooks" — Chick. 

"Art in Our Camps" — Thack. 

"The Opening of our Camp" — Franz. 

"Mr. Turner, our Host" — Hinckley. 

"Our Future" — Pat Downey. 

"The Homeward Trip" — Fletcher. 

The white heat of interest was reached when 
Mack introduced Wishus. Wishus had never 
spoken at a banquet before; indeed he had never 
attended one. This was his first public speech, 
and he had had many misgivings through the day 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 45 

and spent considerable time with pencil and paper 
in preparation for the event. 

'*Mr.. Toastmaster," said Wishus, upon being 
introduced by Mack, — "Mr. Toastmaster and My 
Little Heroes (great applause), doubtless there is 
no better fisherman in this camp than Willie Mack 
(applause). The success of his fishing (derisive 
laughter) may be laid to the fact that he makes his 
bait look like a worm (cheers) , so that he may fool 
the fish. (Great applause.) So far the fishing in 
the lake has not been very exciting. (Sensation.) 
I don't know my piece very well. (Laughter.) 
I think I shall read it. (More laughter.) I will 
read it. (Prolonged laughter and applause.) The 
reason for this is that the fellows have been fishing 
with bait big enough for whales. (Continued 
applause.) Fishing is fun (applause) when there 
are no fellows around to pester or harass you. 
(Awful silence.) For instance, I started to go 
fishing the other day (applause) and some of the 
fellows were the cause of my not getting any fish 
for supper. (Derisive laughter.) This morning 
some one suggested that a prize be given to the 
fellow who caught the first fish. (Applause.) By 
rights it belongs to me (applause) for the reason I 
have already mentioned before. (Uproarious ap- 
plause.) To fish all of the afternoon without 
catching anything seems a disgrace to fishermen. 
(Significant glances at one another by the ban- 
queters.) This reminds me of an experience of 



46 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

mine. I was fishing in Sebago lake one day when 
I came to the conclusion that I would not catch 
anything. I decided to pull in my line and go 
home. I pulled it in and on the end of my line 
was (long pause by the speaker) — a salmon weigh- 
ing twenty-five pounds. (Applause.) This is an 
example of what any one may do in the last minute. 
(Applause.) I would just like to mention that if 
anyone wants any bait he can come over to the 
White House and borrow our worm." (Prolonged 
cheers.) 

The boys were to start for home Thursday even- 
ing at half past eight. They had saved sixteen 
paper boxes which had been emptied of shredded 
wheat or other cooked cereals. These were their 
lunch boxes. Mrs. Turner was to provide their 
lunches and they were to be delivered at quarter 
past eight, — fifteen minutes before the start was 
to be made. These provisions arrived on time and 
the boys were greatly pleased to find that each box 
had been not only filled with food but fitted with a 
convenient handle so that they could be easily 
carried. A few "cat-tails" had been gathered 
and soaked in kerosene, — these make fine torches 
and the boys proposed to use them for their own 
good-cheer on the journey. The attempt of some 
of the party to sleep in the daytime so as to be in 
good trim for the night was, of course, a failure. 
We may eat to ward off approaching hunger; we 



HIKE TO SEBASTICOOK LAKE 47 

may drink against coming thirst; but we cannot 
do our sleeping in advance. 

"Now bring out the sky-rockets," I said, "and 
we will touch them off. These are the ones Franz 
lugged over. This will be a symbolical exhibition. 
The way the rockets go up is the way you fellows 
start for home; the way the sticks come down is 
the way you arrive at Good Will at about seven 
o'clock tomorrow morning." 

When the rockets had ascended in a blaze and the 
sticks had come down with a thud; when a song 
had been sung and "good-byes" said, the sixteen 
pilgrims started across the pond toward Newport 
village. The Roman candles, which they had 
asked that they might keep for a special purpose 
and which I had forgotten, began to show up as 
they marched; the "cat- tails" were lighted and 
when the party was half a mile from camp it re- 
sembled a torch-light parade, with Roman candle 
accompaniment, more than it did a bunch of fisher- 
boys starting on a twenty-seven mile tramp over 
the snow in the night. They were going up like 
rockets. Would my jesting prediction prove true 
and would they come down like the sticks? 

I had but one misgiving. The sky was heavily 
overcast with dark clouds ; in fact it seemed that it 
might rain at any moment and if it should, a sorry 
crowd would be tramping through the wet and dark- 
ness toward Good Will. 

" If I could see the moon shining clear and bright, 



48 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

before I go to bed, I could lay me down and sleep," 
I said to Hinks who had stopped with me in order 
that Franz might have the homeward tramp. An 
hour later, just before retiring for the night, I 
looked out of the window; the moon was nearly 
full; the clouds had disappeared. 

The next morning Hinks and I reached Good 
Will on the ten-ten train and learned that all of the 
boys were at home — having arrived at about seven 
o'clock, AM.; most of them were in their rooms 
and asleep. 

"We will never forget it as long as we live; it was 
great," they said. 



Ill 

THAT TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 

It was January 2d, 1908. I had been calling on 
friends at Winthrop Center, Maine — New Year's 
calls I persisted in terming them — and at C. I. 
Bailey's I had stopped for supper. His man was to 
pilot me down to the little trolley station at the foot 
of the hill to take the car over the Gardiner, 
Augusta and Winthrop Electric Line to Winthrop 
where I could make close connections with the 
Maine Central for home on the late train. The 
pilot, with his lantern, made the walk through the 
icy fields easy, and as we walked we talked. We 
had been at the station two or three minutes when 
he said : 

"You know I was a student at Oak Grove Sem- 
inary for a time." 

" No, I didn't know it. You must have met some 
of the Good Will boys in athletics." 

He assured me that he had. 

"By the way," I said, "last year some of our 
boys made a trip to Sebasticook Lake in March. 
It was thirty and one-half miles, anyway, and they 
lost their way on the Lake at the end and put in 
several extra miles of travel. It was a good 
athletic stunt for them." 
s 49 



50 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

" I should have thought it a rather hard trip for 
them," replied the pilot. "Wasn't it?" 

" I do not think so. Nearly every one of them is 
planning for a similar trip this year, only they'd 
like it a little longer. I'm trying to arrange for a 
trip to Sebec Lake, but it calls for a tramp of some- 
thing like twenty-five miles, then twenty miles by 
rail, and an additional tramp of seven miles to the 
camp. I'm afraid that the last seven miles, after a 
ride in the warm cars — say, see here! A trip from 
Good Will to this place would be just about the 
right distance. Never thought of it before. Don't 
you suppose I could arrange it?" 

"I don't see why not," replied the pilot. 

"I would like to see Harris Woodman or Harry 
Wilkins about it and — here comes the car; I'll 
write to one or the other or both of them. Good- 
night." 

I entered the car. It is only a few minutes' ride 
to the next station and the car stopped. To my 
surprise and delight Harris Woodman and Harry 
Wilkins, the young men I had mentioned, boarded 
the car and sat down behind me. After an eager 
greeting I said: 

''Say, an idea has just entered my head." 

"A rare occurrence?" queried Wilkins, laughing. 

"It has occurred before — once or twice," I 
replied, with mock seriousness. 

Wilkins and I have known each other for years; 
have fished together for bass in rain and sunshine, 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 5 1 

and made some good catches under circumstances 
that compelled us to share the honors. 

As the car glided toward Winthrop we talked of 
the possibility of some of the Good Will boys taking 
a trip to the shores of Cobbosseecontee in the spring 
recess ; but the distance was short and the car moved 
rapidly and too soon the end of the trolley line was 
reached. 

"Good-night, Woodman. I'll write," and we 
three had separated. 

The next day I wrote this letter: 

"My Dear Harris: 

While riding home last night on the train, after parting 
with you, I did a lot of thinking — good thoughts they were, 
too. When I told you that I had got an idea in my head you 
expressed surprise. The more I think of it the more surprised 
I am that that particular idea had not entered my head at an 
earlier date. The idea of a tramp across country to Cobbossee- 
contee appeals to me. It is just about the right distance. 
It would take the boys through a pleasant part of the country 
but away from railways — steam and electric. If you can find 
out anything about accommodations for a party of sixteen or 
eighteen, which has any encouragement in it for me, I shall be 
glad to hear from you. In the meantime I will try to keep my 
hopes down until there is some basis for them to rest upon. 
If there is anything in sight in the way of cottage accommo- 
dations I would like to come and look the ground over before 
the snow gets deep. Of course there are many details that I 
would have to arrange later — as to where we would get our 
provisions, the best way of shipping them, etc. I neglected to 
say in our hurried interview last evening that we would expect 
to furnish our own blankets — just as we did last year; I mean 
the extra blankets necessary on account of the cold weather, 



52 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

over and above the number ordinarily in use in the cottages. 
I also neglected to say, what you doubtless understand, that, 
while we could not pay a large price for the cottages, we would 
expect to pay a reasonable rental. I think the cottages we 
had last year were one dollar a day not including fuel. 

I am sending in this mail an account of our trip last year 
which will give you a little idea of how the thing was managed 
and a suggestion as to how I propose to carry out the trip this 
year, wherever we go. You understand, of course, that the 
boys who would be with me are the older, stronger boys — most 
of them in the High School — and all of them boys who are 
working mornings and nights and Saturdays at a stated price 
per hour to pay their expenses at Good Will. They are all 
'Buckminster boys' — no kids. 

In your investigation as to the possibilities for us, please 
do not urge the matter upon cottage owners. Just find out if 
you can how they feel about renting their cottages for a month 
and we will do the rest. 

Sincerely yours." 

The following letter was received in reply: 
"I was glad to receive your letter of the third and have 
carefully noted its contents. I am this day writing Aunt 
Hannah regarding her cottage on the Island, which we men- 
tioned on the car that evening. If we can secure these two 
cottages, with their log cabin, I should think you would be 
pretty well fixed as far as sleeping accommodations go. Now, 
supposing we could get only one of these camps — would it do 
to get one on another island about three-quarters of a mile 
away or would you prefer to have them all within haiHng 
distance? I ask this because I have another cottage or two 
in mind whose owners I might see any time and make inquiries. 
"Hoping that we may be able to bring the matter to a head 
and placing fny services entirely at your disposal, I am, 
"Yours, very sincerely, 

"Harris S. Woodman." 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 53 

Other letters passed between us. I made a trip 
to Winthrop to examine the location and the cot- 
tages. It was finally arranged that the party 
should occupy two cottages — one on the west shore 
of Cobbosseecontee, nearly a mile from Winthrop 
Center, another on an island nearly a mile from the 
shore. The two cottages would face each other; an 
equal number of boys would be in each; B. A. 
Greenwood would lead one group while I would 
lead the other. It was arranged that groceries 
should be ordered in two lots — the second lot an 
exact duplicate of the first and all delivered to the 
cottages. A bill of fare was arranged so that both 
parties would fare alike. The really serious matter 
was the proper division of the eighteen boys so that 
the interests of the camps would be evenly bal- 
anced. What if all the boys who knew how to cook 
should be in one party; or all of the good singers? 
It was finally decided that the leaders should draw 
lots, but with the understanding that if, by lot, the 
division proved to be hopelessly one-sided in cooking 
or musical ability, some further adjustment might 
be made. The division proved to be as follows, 
and no change was necessary or desired. 

In Mr. Greenwood's party: Gilbert Arey, Fred 
Cook, Dexter Davis, Wm. Bradbury, Albert Lush, 
Berton Cook, Harry Fletcher, Fred Rawson, 
Willard Burt. 

In my own party: Harold Whittier, Luther 
Brackett, Harold Wilson, Horace Davis, David 



54 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Dorwood, Robert Tucker, George Coleman, Chas. 
Warren, Hollis Simpson. 

Two or three meetings of these boys were held 
in order to make arrangements. A letter from 
Harris Woodman was read at one of the meetings 
in which he said: 

"C. M. Bailey wishes me to inform you that 
he will give the boys their supper at the cottage 
next Saturday evening, and that he pleases to have 
the function referred to as 'The Old Deacon's 
Lunch.' " 

At another meeting it was announced that the 
Winthrop Center Brass Band would be on hand 
Monday evening; that the boys would be expected 
to be in the church services and Sunday School on 
Sunday and would be very welcome. 

Among the eighteen who craved the privilege of 
the tramp were three whose endurance was ques- 
tioned. They were Dexter, Wilson and Fred Cook. 
But these three were persistent. 

I had planned to go to the camp the day before 
they were to start and open the cottages. In order 
to do this I would need the assistance of one of the 
boys, but, when the day came to start, and it was 
learned that the boy selected for the service had 
not had much experience in cooking and because 
each boy in the party was counting on the tramp, it 
was decided that two young cooks be selected who 
were not on the list. At twelve-forty-five Jeff 
Jessup and Ned Moody were notified that they were 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 55 

to take the one-nine train for Winthrop. It was 
their first knowledge of the fact, but they were on 
hand when the time came. 

Perhaps a fairer morning than Friday, March 
twentieth, dawned sometime in the past; if so it 
must have been in sunny Italy or, perchance, in 
Southern California, where the uninitiated suppose 
that there are no weather calamities. The moon 
was near full at the time of the start ; the stars were 
bright in the heavens ; the walking was fairly good ; 
the air was bracing. The hour fixed for the start 
was four o'clock; but, as every boy was ready 
fifteen minutes earlier there was no reason for sitting 
about idly waiting for four o'clock to come. So 
the start was made at three-forty-five A. M. 

To Dorwood had been committed certain mes- 
sages, prepared by men at Good Will, which were 
to be read to the pilgrims at intervals. The time 
for the opening of some of them was indicated on 
the envelopes ; others — especially the blue envelopes, 
containing messages from Mr. Barnard — were to 
be opened at such times as pleased the crowd. 

At seven o'clock the boys were to have a hot 
breakfast at the home of Mr. and Mrs. G. T. Ben- 
son, in Oakland, and, at the hour appointed, the 
boys were there and had made the first nine miles, 
and had also had quite a rest. Great kindness was 
shown the travelers by Mr. and Mrs. Benson and 
a few of the neighbors; and be it said, also, that a 
much better breakfast than had been ordered or 



56 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

promised was served to them. Here, too, the first 
message was opened and read. It was from B. A. 
Greenwood, who was to leave Good Will by train 
later in the day, and join the boys in camp. The 
message ran thus: 

"The practice of perseverance is the discipHne of the noblest 
virtues. To run well we must run to the end. It is not the 
fighting but the conquering that gives a hero his title to 
renown." 

The next message was opened at eight o'clock. 
It was from C. F. Nutter and as follows: 

" 'Tis said 'He can who thinks he can,* 

So keep a-goin' — 
Put aches away and be a man 

And keep a-goin'. 
Tell Kiko — Cook and Gil and Dave 

To keep a-goin' 
The prestige of Good Will to save — 

Now keep a-goin'." 

Then came the contents of a blue envelope — 
one of Mr. Barnard's messages — which said: 

"Don't think of the miles you have gone or have to go! 
Think simply that you are going to keep right on trudging 
till two o'clock." 

An envelope marked ''Eight-forty-three A. M." 
was opened on time and was found to have this 
for encouragement: 

"As long as life remaineth 
So long shall hope exist!" 

It was from E. C. McDonald. 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 57 

At nine o'clock, as the wanderers plodded through 
Belgrade, Principal Watson's message was delivered, 
as follows: 

" 'Jeder weiss am besten, wo der Schuh ihn druckt.' 
(' No one knows so well where the shoe hurts as he who has 
it on.') 
Sehr aufrichtig und immer derselbe, — Herr Watson." 

Then, out of a blue envelope, Mr. Barnard spoke 
again : 

"Don't run: don't walk fast: don't stop to rest or you'll 
stiffen up and walking after that will be hard. Keep right on 
walking slowly and if you are tired simply slow up a bit, but 
keep on!" 

At ten o'clock the envelope marked for that hour 
was opened and had this sentiment to inspire the 
trampers: 

"Remember, you are all invited to 'The Old Deacon's 
Lunch' Saturday night. — G. W. Hinckley." 

Another Barnard message ran thus: 

" If you happen to be real tired just now, keep pegging ahead 
slowly and don't look ahead. Keep your eyes on the ground 
about six feet in front of you. It's restful." 

At eleven came this message from Dorward's 
pocket : 

"The band concert is to be Monday evening at the cottage 
on the shore. Meet me there! — G. W. Hinckley." 

One o'clock found the crowd a bit scattered. 
Some were footsore; one or two were lagging, but 



58 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the envelope designated to be opened at that time 
read thus: 

" Remember that dinner is ready for you at the camp. We 
are waiting for you. — G. W. Hinckley. 

'He can who thinks he can!' " 

Another blue envelope yielded this: 

"Nothing hurts a foot more than a wrinkle in the toe of a 
stocking. Better take your stocking off and put it on again. 
It will rest your foot, if your foot burns and aches." 

Mr. Barnard spoke from another blue envelope: 

" If you are tired and someone is just ahead of you it is much 
easier for you to walk ahead of him than behind him. Ask 
him to let you lead." 

Mr. Greenwood's last attempt to give strength 
to the weary was worded thus: 

"O, the chowders we have eatened, 
And the chocolate that was sweetened; 
How we wish we had some more 
As we near Cobbossee's shore! 

We will try to forget 

That our feet are awful wet, 

And press on, with courage steady. 

Trusting, hoping, supper's ready!" 

At two o'clock in camp, all things being in readi- 
ness, Ted and Jeff got permission to go to Winthrop 
Center to meet the plodding boys. At three-fifteen 
I was sitting alone in the cottage when I heard 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 59 

voices, and, going to the veranda, I saw them 
coming into the grove. They were singing to the 
tune of ''Auld Lang Syne": 

"We're here, we're here because we're here, 
We're here because we're here." 

Five minutes later, at three-twenty P. M., the 
last boy to arrive was in camp. They had trav- 
eled over thirty-five miles; had stopped for one 
meal and a rest; they had been just eleven and one- 
half hours on the way. At four o'clock dinner was 
served. Gil and Chick were the first to leave the 
table. 

"Where are you going? " I asked, as I granted 
their request to be excused. 

"Just out on the lake for a little exercise," said 
Gil, seriously. "I've a little headache and I want 
to see if I can walk it off. " 

"Ah," said Whit, recalling some happy inci- 
dents, "the people cheered us along the way. It 
gave us lots of courage to have somebody come 
out and wave a hand or a hat and say 'Three 
cheers for the Good Will boys!' One place, too, 
an old veteran had us cheer the flag and we did 
it and then he cheered us. It — well, it gave us 
courage; it made us feel good." 

But, one at a time, the boys crept up stairs to 
the one big room, used as a bedroom for all who 
stop at that cottage. In the center of the room 
an iron rod, an inch in diameter, extends from 



6o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the floor to the ridge-board — about fifteen feet. 
It is a support for the floor. It is taken for granted 
that the first two boys who went upstairs shinned 
that rod; all the rest had to do it. As each weary 
pilgrim reached the head of the stairs and glanced 
around for a place to rest, the query always came 
from those who had preceded him : 

"Have you shinned that rod? " 

"No." 

"Well, you must before you can lie down. " 

" Have the rest of you fellows done it? " 

"Sure; every one of us! " 

And so each one shinned the iron rod before he 
lay down. 

It was to the Friends' Church at Winthrop Center 
that we had been invited for the Sunday service, 
and at nine-thirty A. M. we turned our steps 
thither. The bell in the tower had been rung at 
nine ; it would ring again at five minutes of ten and 
continue until ten, when the organ voluntary would 
begin. Fred was sick; too sick to leave the cottage 
on the Island, but not too sick to remain alone. 
All the rest of the two groups attended the service. 

The afternoon was quiet; some read by them- 
selves in each cottage and in each cottage there 
were some reading aloud. At half-past six the boys 
came to the shore from the Island, all except the 
sick boy Fred, his brother Bert, and Ned, the cook, 
who had volunteered to stay with him. But it 
was thought unsafe for him to be longer without 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 6 1 

a physician's aid and a doctor was called who with 
Harris Woodman went to the Island to see the 
young sufferer while the rest were in the service. 

The vestry was filled to overflowing at the even- 
ing service; so packed that Deacon Bailey, the 
aged leader said that it would be uncomfortable 
to have a long meeting, and, in just one hour, the 
service closed. Singing — how the people sang, and 
the Good Will boys, too — song after song, and 
prayers and testimonies till the time for the end 
came. The good doctor and Harris Woodman re- 
turned from the Island and reported Fred's pulse 
at one hundred and eight; his temperature at one 
hundred and two; but the boys were to administer 
remedies through the night and all hoped for better 
things in the morning. It had been a great Sunday. 
There were good prospects for a fine week. 

Monday 

Whether or not the uncertainties of life con- 
tribute anything to our enjoyment, it must be 
conceded that they add to the interest of living. 
There were uncertainties for the Islanders. It 
was possible that warm weather might so weaken 
the ice that the Islanders would be confined to 
their Island for an indefinite time. In fact, on 
several occasions, I had attempted to rally Mr. 
Greenwood upon the probability that he and his 
party would get imprisoned on the Island by the 



^2 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

weak ice and be compelled to remain there till 
the ice went out. 

''It will be great sport to rescue you at the last 
moment," I had said. "You should have some 
red lights which you can use as signals at night. 
We will let one red light mean ' out of food ' ; two 
red lights, 'we have only one match left' ; three red 
lights, 'we want a doctor, 'etc." 

He had listened to the raillery with character- 
istic good humor, but we both realized that un- 
derlying it all there was a serious possibility. To 
get caught on the Island and be kept there a week 
or two with only three days' provisions would 
not be an agreeable experience. When Monday 
morning came there were indications that just 
such an experience might be in store for them. 
It was soft weather with every prospect of a warm 
rain. 

"Go over to the Island," I said to Coleman, 
"Go over to the Island and tell them that Fred 
must be brought to the shore at once. It's going 
to rain; there is soft weather ahead and he must 
be got over here before it comes or he may get 
caught on the Island and the doctor not be able 
to get to him." 

Coleman started out; but it grew warm and 
dark fast. The snow was melting; the ice might 
be weakening; a downpour was imminent. But 
it was a full hour before one of the boys on shore 
exclaimed : 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 63 

"Here they come with Fred," and four boys 
were seen crossing the lake bringing the sick one 
on a cot. They were singing songs and shouting 
all sorts of sentiments and this relieved the scene 
of what otherwise might have been features un- 
pleasantly suggestive, if not really pathetic; and 
Fred's temperature stayed up at one hundred and 
two and his pulse at one hundred and eight. 

But there were alleviating circumstances — Fred 
was where the doctor could see him; and he was 
where he could hear the band play, if the band 
came. 

And the band did come! There were proba- 
bilities of disappointment, for rain was certain. 
Trips to Winthrop Center in the morning by one 
group; another to Winthrop Center to be shown 
through the big oil-cloth mill there — these trips 
had been taken under lowering and threatening 
clouds. So bad was the traveling on the Lake 
that the Islanders — many of them already with 
wet feet — were invited to stop on shore to supper 
rather than go to the Island and get back just in 
time for the concert "if the band came. " 

Of course the Islanders accepted the invita- 
tion and it was a happy arrangement all around, 
but for one circumstance. The provisions had 
in the main been carefully ordered and all pro- 
visions had been put up in duplicate packages. 
There was in the cottage on shore enough of several 
different foods for a meal for ten, but the dupli- 



64 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

cate provisions, in every case, were over on the 
Island. A compromise was effected and Ted and 
Jeff, combining their skill, got up an abundant 
supper for all. 

But now it was raining. A well-known band- 
leader of Portland was under appointment to come 
to Winthrop Center to meet and lead the band; 
but would he be willing to accompany the band 
down through the fields, over the muddy road in a 
drizzling rain and murky darkness, just to gratify 
a small company of boys? Wouldn't he go on a 
strike and say, "The trip from Portland to Win- 
throp Center is enough for me ' ' ? 

And then, there was the band, too; what would 
the players say? There were not half a dozen 
in the twenty or twenty-five members that had 
ever met any one in our party; wouldn't they all 
strike? We feared it; but it was a crowd of opti- 
mists and they all said: " Perhaps they will come. " 

There was another difficulty: The tramp on the 
ice in a rain-storm from the shore to the Island 
would be gloomy enough in the daytime; but what 
about it in the blackness of a stormy night? There 
were grave questions, also, whether they would be 
able to find the Island if they started, for there was 
no one there, and no light to guide. Finally Al 
Lush and Ned Moody went over the route before 
dark and set a lighted green lantern in front of the 
cottage. It was an unerring guide — or we thought 
it would be. 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 65 

It was a quarter before eight when Whittier 
tumbled breathlessly into the cottage out of the 
darkness and exclaimed "They're coming, sure 
as you're born! " and a scene of general good- 
feeling and excitement followed. A two-horse bus 
or some vehicle of the kind stopped in front of the 
cottage and the occupants gave a cheer for Good 
Will which was immediately followed by a rousing 
cheer from the boys for "The band! The band! 
The band! " How the first selection quickened 
the blood of the Good Will boys! It w^as worth 
while to watch Pussy's face — Pussy whose father 
was himself a band-master in his day. 

After two or three selections the leader said: 
"We will play 'Marching Through Georgia' and 
can't the boys sing it as we play? " Now nothing 
could have been easier for Good Will as one of 
their best songs — "Honor to our graduates" — 
goes to that air and the four verses with the chorus 
were sung: 

"Awake! Awake! and raise a rousing song, 
Awake! Awake! and sing it all day long. 
Honor to our graduates, the cheerful and the strong, 
While we are loyal to Good Will. " 

So the next two hours passed ; two or three band 
selections, each applauded by the boys, and then 
one or two songs by the boys, applauded by the 
band, till ten o'clock came, with three stanzas of 
"America" by both band and boys and Good Will's 

6 



66 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"Good night" song. There were twenty- three 
players in the band ; there were twenty-one singers 
in the Good Will crowd. 

But what about the Islanders? The green light 
shining so brightly before the concert was now in- 
visible; either the fog and rain were so thick as to 
obscure it, or, for want of oil, it had gone out. 

"Leave a light in the window for at least fifteen 
minutes after we start," said Mr. Greenwood, 
"so that in case we fail to find the Island we can 
make our way back. " 

Ten minutes after the Islanders started some 
of the shore boys watched the receding lantern 
carried by Mr. Greenwood. 

"I tell you," said Whittier, "they are swinging 
away to the right. They are all off the track." 

"Of course they are," said Dorwood, who had 
just come upon the veranda. 

"I believe it myself," I confessed; "they will 
probably go past the Island and wander around 
on the other side. We will leave the light in the 
window all night, for not until morning will we 
know where they are. We ought to have given 
them a red light to burn as a signal that they had 
reached the cottage and then we would have 
known." 

The watchers stood on the veranda and strained 
their eyes following the faint glimmer of the re- 
ceding lantern away to the west of the Island and 
gazed till there was no longer a glimmer to follow. 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 67 

"It's no use," they said. "All we can do is to 
leave the lamp a-burning for we've nothing to go 
after them with; they've got our lantern." 

Then they went to bed and listened to the rain 
upon the roof until one after another was lulled 
to sleep. 

"But I wish I knew that those fellows were 
under shelter," I said. And then I, too, must 
have slept, for, upon opening my eyes, I discov- 
ered that the sun was shining in through the east 
window. 

Tuesday 

Tuesday was a day in camp. Anyone who has 
ever given himself up to the pleasure of such a day 
knows what it means. No amount of explanation 
to those who have never done it can convey much 
of an idea of its significance. "A day in camp." 
How short it is ! How interesting ! How enjoyable ! 
There is everything doing and nothing in particular. 
No record can be kept that does it justice; its joys 
cannot be put upon paper ; printers' ink destroys its 
very atmosphere. But it may be stated here that 
we learned at an early hour that the Islanders were 
all safe; that our party was increased in size by 
the arrival of Sam Allen from Good Will; and, at 
the close of the day, the shore group made a trip 
to the Island and spent the evening there. 

The sun was warm and bright in the morning; 
Fred's pulse was normal; it was thought that his 



68 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

temperature must be nearly so and at eight o'clock 
he got up. When he came down stairs the rest had 
been to breakfast. Kiko, Whittier and Chick had 
been for an hour in their ordinary, indoor garb, on 
the veranda writing letters; one of the boys was 
skeeing; another was out at the ice-boat which was 
moored near the cottage ten rods from the shore. 

''This is a wonderful climate," I remarked as 
I stood near the letter writers where I had been 
enjoying the warm sunshine and looking out over 
the Lake; "a wonderful climate; here is an ice- 
boat on ice a foot thick; boys on the veranda, bare- 
headed and in their shirt-sleeves writing letters, 
just as they would in August; and there is a boy 
a quarter of a mile off shore skating, and there is 
another over there on skees. " 

"We might go in swimming," said Kiko and 
then, as though a sudden inspiration had come to 
him, he turned to me and said: 

"Can we?" 

"Certainly," I replied, "the open water ten 
feet wide between the shore and the outer edge 
of the ice is all right if you want to try it. If you 
are going to do these things," I added, "some one 
might launch Woodman's canoe and add to the 
gaiety of the occasion." 

The suggestions were soon acted upon and any- 
one standing upon the veranda might have seen 
Fred Cook sitting in the cottage by the open fire, 
and enjoying it; Bradbury skipping about on 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 69 

skees ; Dorwood on the ice-boat a few rods from the 
shore; Jeff, the cook, playing on land, barefooted 
in front of the cottage ; Tucker, sliding on the lake 
using Woodman's hand-sled; Coleman skating far 
off in the middle of the Lake; two or three sitting 
upon the veranda writing letters in the sunshine; 
Wilson paddling along the shore-front in Wood- 
man's canoe, while Whittier, Brackett and Chick 
went in swimming. These courageous swimmers 
were soon joined by Jeff, Dorwood, Bradbury, 
Kiko and Coleman. Jeff yielded to the temptation 
to throw snowballs at the swimmers after he had 
got out of the water but Tucker, who in the mean- 
tim.e had taken to the sled, quickly responded and, 
as Jeff was not yet dressed, he withdrew from the 
contest. 

" Oh, say, this is a little hard on a fellow's feet, " 
cried Whittier as he emerged from the water to the 
ice on the Lake side of the open stretch along the 
shore ; ' ' my but it's hard on the feet ! ' ' 

''Say how, shall we get in? " said Kiko as he 
stood upon the slanting ice that sloped towards 
the open water, ready for his plunge. "Shall I sit 
down and slide in or shall I lie down and roll down 
the slope? " 

He sat down on the upper edge of the icy plane 
while he was speaking and stretched out his legs 
as though he must first settle this problem as to 
the method. The inquiry, however, was unneces- 
sary; nor did anyone have time to offer a reply. 



70 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Kiko answered it himself; but not with any ex- 
tended discussion of ways and means. No sooner 
had he asked the question than he began slipping 
down the smooth incline, and there was no way of 
stopping himself. Kiko's face had been one shining 
smile; in an instant it looked like a thick cloud, as 
he slid helplessly forward. He reached out his 
hand nervously as though he wanted to catch hold 
of something but no man ever succeeded in catch- 
ing hold of such a vast smooth surface. Ice-tongs 
or a chisel in Kiko's hands might have availed some- 
thing but tender fingers of flesh and blood were 
useless. Slip! — Slip! — Splash! ! Kiko was in and 
whether he had sat down and slid in or lain down 
and rolled in was of little account. But his en- 
trance into the chilling wave was unmarred by any 
accident — his course had been smooth enough — 
while Brackett, who took more time to deliberate, 
struck a piece of floating ice in such a way that a 
piece of skin was taken off the bridge of his nose, 
the scar of which remained for many days as silent 
proof that he, too, "went in." 

"This is really a wonderful climate," I repeated; 
"Florida is all right for those who like it and so 
is Southern California. But there is probably no 
other place in the world where one can do so many 
things in one day as here at Cobbosseecontee. " 

"Did you mention our ball-playing," asked 
Chick? "You know we've been playing ball too. " 

"Qh, no," I replied, "there are many other 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 7 1 

sports that our climate aflfords — in fact they are 
too numerous to mention. " 

I cannot tell what the Islanders did after their 
guests left that night; but when the visitors had 
returned to their own cottage on the shore the 
ties of friendship between them strengthened 
rapidly as we lingered before the open fire and 
piled on big sticks and sang Good Will songs and 
changed off to sacred hymns, following the whim 
of Bradbury who led grotesquely with a forlorn 
little harmonica. Nearly all the familiar sacred 
hymns were struck by him and for him to hit one 
meant that all would sing; and the flames died 
out and the great glowing coals crumbled in the 
fireplace and the boys assumed drowsy attitudes 
but refused to move or break the spell till crum- 
bling coals had become ashes and midnight ar- 
rived and a chill crept up our backs. 

"Do you suppose we'll get a chance at ice-boat- 
ing while we're here? " asked one of the boys. 

"I don't know; don't you hope for it nor men- 
tion it." 

And we said "Good-night! " 

Wednesday 

There was no early-rising the next morning. 
It had come off cold during the night — "ripping 
cold," the boys said. Everything was frozen. 
The proprietor was slow in getting under way; 
the clerk had to make a new hole through the ice 



72 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

to get water ; Jeff seemed to be supremely indifferent 
to the appetites which the cold weather was whet- 
ting. It was eight o'clock when a knock came at 
the door. Harry Wilkins of Winthrop Center 
wanted the rudder to his ice-boat — the rudder that 
he kept in the cottage. His arrival created some- 
thing of a sensation and the boys finished their 
breakfasts as soon as they could. By ten o'clock 
a fleet of five ice-boats was gliding over the Lake — 
scudding before the brisk breeze or tacking into 
it and each boat had its quota of Good Will boys, 
either from the shore or the Island. 

Some of the men who pledged themselves to 
help provide the supper for Wednesday evening 
had been exceedingly busy the night before; in 
fact, as late as ten-thirty o'clock it was ascertained 
that one man, at least, was still at work on pies 
for the coming supper. In his office that afternoon 
Deacon Bailey remarked to someone within hear- 
ing: "I am going home a little early today; I have 
a bit of cooking to do" and he did his part well. 

There was an informal gathering in the vestry 
at about half past five; and, at six o'clock, the 
first tables in the dining-room were filled. It was 
a fine supper — well-cooked and well-served and 
the men who provided it may always smile as they 
think of it, as we will who partook of it. It was 
eight o'clock before all of the people present had 
partaken of the supper and then came the 
concert. The Winthrop Center brass band played. 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 73 

When the time came for the boys to sing their 
first selection they went upon the platform and 
to the tune of "The Old Oaken Bucket" sang their 
greeting thus: 

"In beautiful Winthrop there dwelleth a deacon, 

A man who has lived till he calls himself old; 
He showed us his heart while we camped at the lakeshore, 

And did us some favors that here must be told: 
He came down to see us, he lunched us, he pleased us, 

He made an occasion that we'll not forget; 
He welcomed us, sang with us, shook hands with all of us; 

Everyone said 'twas the finest time yet; 
This very old deacon, this youth-loving deacon, 

This warm-hearted deacon we honor and love. 

We know a young man who is sometimes called Harris; 

But everyone knows that Woodman is his name; 
He's done some things lately for which we are grateful. 

And we will now proceed to rehearse the same. 
He made all the plans for our stay at the lakeside, 

He gave us the key to the cottage as well, 
He ordered our groceries, he aided us daily, 

Twould take half the night all his kindness to tell: 
This gay Harris Woodm.an, this warm-hearted Woodman, 

This helpful young Woodman we greet with a yell. 

Twould hardly be fair if we mentioned the deacon 

And young Harris Woodman and praised only these; 
We've found Winthrop Center as full of kind people 

As any old forest is full of big trees. 
The welcome on Sunday, both morning and evening. 

Has found a quick answer in every boy's heart; 
The supper tonight has just strengthened these friendships, 

And made it still harder for us to depart: 
Kind friends in Old Winthrop, good friends at the Center, 

Strong friends in Old Winthrop from whom we must part. 



74 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

O, Co-bossy-so-bossy-con-te-co-bo-coss: 

O, Con-te-ko-so-bossy-so-bossy-con : 
The beautiful lake in the town of Old Winthrop, 

The Cobbosseecontee, we're camping upon. 
The snow is all melting, the ice is all slushy, 

And soon we must leave for our home at Good Will, 
But where'er we go we will cherish this evening. 

Though we wander far, we'll remember thee still; 
O, Cobbosseecontee, O, Contee-so-bossy; 

O, Cobbosseecontee, O, so-bossy-Con." 

Thursday 

Thursday was the last "day in camp." There 
was more ice-boating. The boys wrote many letters ; 
there was much talk about the homeward trip; 
Mr. Greenwood in ice-boating collided with another 
boat — a collision in which Mr. Greenwood himself 
and the boat piloted by the other man were disabled. 
The other man and Mr. Greenwood's boat escaped 
injury. Fred was rapidly recovering; provisions 
were getting low though there was still plenty to 
eat; there was a general air about the camp which 
seemed to say: 

*' We cannot stay here much longer. " 
That evening the boys sang their "Good Night" 
song to the Deacon and his household and then 
proceeded to the home of C. I. Bailey, where they 
sang the same song again and finally responded to 
a kind invitation to "Come in"; then in front of 
the "Highlands" they repeated the same selec- 
tion — a farewell serenade for all who heard it. It 



TRAMP TO COBBOSSEECONTEE 75 

was only a coincidence that, wherever the boys 
sang this song in front of a house, during their 
visits to the Center the electric lights were always 
turned on in honor of the serenaders just as they 
reached the lines: 

"Forget thyself and all the world, 
Put out each glaring light." 

It was just ten minutes past seven the next 
morning when the boys started on their home- 
ward trip. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 

There were three routes left to the choice of 
the boys. The one involving a walk from Win- 
throp Center to Oakland, twenty-three miles, and 
a trolley ride of twelve miles through Oakland 
and Waterville and Fairfield to Shawmut and a 
walk of three miles from Shawmut to Good Will 
was the route which proved attractive to most of 
them. The first who arrived at Good Will reached 
home at six- twenty P. M. The last arrivals were 
at nine- ten P. M.; these were Simpson, Dorwood 
and Whittier who had walked all the way and con- 
trived to lenghten the trip to about forty- two miles. 

It was an outing entirely unlike any the Good 
Will boys had ever undertaken; it had been a test 
of the endurance of some and a benefit to all; it 
had been made memorable by the thoughtfulness 
and the continued kindness of good friends in 
Winthrop Center, 



IV 
THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 

While journeying one day on the Maine Central 
Railroad between Portland, Maine, and my home 
I met Wainwright Gushing, a public spirited citi- 
zen and a man in full sympathy with me in my 
efforts to extend a helping hand to others. In a 
brief conversation on the train that day he made a 
proposition that started my blood and quickened 
my pulse. He told me that he owned a cottage on 
the shore of Sebec Lake in Piscatiquis Gounty, 
Maine, and if I would lead a party of boys to it, 
the cottage should be at my disposal for a week — 
two weeks if I wanted it. The trip was to be made, 
however, at a time when Mr. Gushing or his family 
would not be occupying the cottage, and this 
would mean late autumn or early spring. At 
first thought this condition would be fatal to the 
project, because school begins in September, and 
a vacation any time after that and before summer 
is out of the question. Schools are in session at 
Good Will until June and a trip of more than a day 
or two could not be undertaken. 

There was an arrangement, however, which might 
be made and this was later discussed. The spring 
vacation comes in March — March with its high 

76 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 77 

winds and heavy snows; its soft rains, slush and 
mud. No one can tell which will predominate in 
Maine in the month of March — cold and snow or 
mud and rain. But this, beyond all question, 
would be the time for a trip ; and no doubt the un- 
certainty of weather conditions and the varied 
travelling would prove an additional test of pluck 
and endurance, even if they did not add to the en- 
joyment. 

But when the time came there were so many 
uncertainties and the journey was so long that a 
compromise was effected and the boys made "That 
Tramp to Sebasticook." 

The next year there were fresh rumors among the 
boys of a trip to Sebec Lake but a tramp was made 
to Cobbosseecontee which was duly chronicled by 
the scribe. 

Both of these trips were interesting and enjoy- 
able to the boys, but their hearts turned toward 
Sebec Lake, and so did mine. Thus it came to 
pass that one day in November I said to a group 
of boys — possible comrades on such a journey : 

"I am going to Foxcroft this week; I shall see 
Mr. Gushing who two years ago made a proposition 
which resulted in the March tramps which I have 
enjoyed and when I came back I will know whether 
or not the Sebec Lake trip is feasible." 

The boys listened intently. 

" It will be a hard trip if we make it," I added. 

"We can do it and we want it," chorused the 



78 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

boys. "We can make a harder trip than we made 
last year anyway, and we want to get far up in the 
woods." 

From Foxcroft the next week I mailed postal 
cards to several of the boys whom I fancied would 
make the trip. The cards were written in order but 
before they were in the mail they had got woefully 
mixed. They were as follows: 
To Norman Hinckley : 

I saw Mr. Gushing the owner of 
To Burton Cook: 

says he will have a dinner ready for us. I will 
make 
To Horace Davis: 

Dexter, thirty-two miles, stop 
To George Goleman: 

of it in March. I think 
To Fred Gook : 

to Sebec. Mr. Mayo, a business man of Foxcroft 
To Dexter Davis: 

over night and the next day go 
To Frank Nason: 

he says we can have the use 
To John Bradbury: 

further arrangements in Dexter today and 
To Archie MacDougal : 

the best plan will be to tramp to 
To Rex Fairchild : 

the cottage at Sebec Lake, and 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 79 

To Robert Tucker : 

more details before I sleep tonight. 
To Edmund Brown: 

will know 

These cards, as I have already stated, were 
written in order, but when they reached Good Will 
they were as badly disarranged as when they were 
finally dropped into the mail box at Foxcroft, and 
not one of them alone conveyed much information 
to the recipients. But when they had been col- 
lected at Good Will and arranged, the boys had the 
following, which was sufficient for my purpose at the 
time: 

"I saw Mr. Gushing, the owner of the cottage 
at Sebec Lake, and he says we can have the use of 
it in March. I think the best plan will be to tramp 
to Dexter, thirty-two miles, stop over night, and the 
next day go to Sebec. Mr. Mayo, a business man 
of Foxcroft says he will have a dinner ready for us. 
I will make further arrangements in Dexter today 
and will know more details before I sleep tonight." 

On the trip to Cobbosseecontee in the year 1908 
a series of messages were read at intervals to the 
boys, at such times as were designated on the sealed 
envelopes in which they had been delivered to dif- 
ferent members of the party. These "wireless" 
messages were from friends at Good Will. Several 
weeks before the tramp to Sebec Lake was to begin 
messages began to arrive to be used on the occasion 



8o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

but which were not to be seen or heard by the pedes- 
trians until the times designated on the envelopes. 
As the boys who were to make the journey were 
members of the Good Will Y. M. C. A., many of 
the messages were from directors of boys' work; 
several of them were from State and International 
Secretaries. The reader will agree with me, that 
these greetings were approriate and well calculated 
to act as a tonic, should the pedestrians prove to be 
weak. 

C. C. Robinson, at that time Maine State Sec- 
retary of Boys' Work, opened his message with 
lines from Edmund Vance Cook, and had this 
cheering bit for the travellers : 

"'Did you tackle that trouble that came your way 
With a resolute heart and cheerful; 
Or hide your face from the light of day 
With a craven soul and fearful? 
Oh, a trouble is a ton or a trouble is an ounce, 
Or a trouble is what you make it. 
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, 
But only — how did you take it? 

You were beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? 

Come up with a smiling face. 

It's nothing against you to fall down flat, 

But to He there — that's disgrace. 

The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; 

Be proud of your blackened eye! 

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; 

It's how did you fight — ^and why? 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 8 1 

And though you be done to the death, what then? 
If you battled the best you could; 
If you played your part in the world of men, 
Why the Critic will call it good. 

Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce. 
And, whether he's slow or spry, 
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, 
But only — how did you die?' 

With kindest regards," 

Lewis W. Dunn, then the New Hampshire State 
Secretary of Boys' Work, also quoted verse that 
seemed to anticipate troubles of various kinds for 
the pedestrians. His message read: 

"To the Good Will 'Hikers': 

Apply this sample of 'Good Cheer Salve' prepared by 
Herbert Kaufmann to the blister on your heel. It's guaran- 
teed to ease the irritation or money refunded. 

'Who's to blame if you by worry 
Fill each waking hour with dread? 
Does the fault belong to others? 
Isn't it your own instead? 

Here's a sunny plain and cheery. 
There's a valley dark and damp; 
It's for you to choose between them. 
Where will be your daily camp? 

Might as well be bright and smiling. 
All depends upon your mind ; 
Might as well enjoy the melon 
As to only eat the rind. ' 

Sincerely yours," 



82 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Anxious to add my own word of mental stimulus, 
I entrusted one of the boys with the following, and 
this, like all the other messages was marked to be 
opened at a stated time. The "stated times" 
extended all the way from "just before starting 
from Good Will," on the first day, and "after din- 
ner at Hartland," to various times the second day — 
such times as 7.20, 8.35, 9.15, 10.20, 10.55 A. M., 
1.20, 1.55, 2.10 P. M. and so on through the days. 

"Fellows: — 

I am reminding you that on Monday of this week Edward 
Payson Weston, the famous pedestrian, started on his walk 
from New York City to San Francisco. The day was the 
seventy-first anniversary of his birth. There is a difference 
between seventeen and seventy-one; the difference in train- 
ing and experience is in his favor; the difference in endurance 
ought to be in your favor. His journey is four thousand three 
hundred miles; yours is fifty-two. He went thirty miles the 
first day; you must do twenty today. Your goal is nearer 
than his; you must all win out, and win out in good shape." 

David R. Porter, International Secretary to 
High and Preparatory Schools, greeted the youth- 
ful pedestrians thus: 

" Robert Louis Stevenson in spite of constant illness was a 
great walker, and as a greeting for this trip or a message for 
the journey there is nothing anywhere more heartening than 
this: 'To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. ' " 

E. B. Hinkley, Yale '10, furnished this for a spur 
to any who needed it : 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 83 

"To the light-hearted, the heavy-footed, and the game ones: — 
Once there lived, and walked, and fished, a man; and he did 
little else — save that he thought the while that he was living, 
walking and fishing. He did not care much for social times; 
a friend or two who could hold a rod and catch trout were 
sufficient for him. But he could walk well, and he did walk; 
he could fish well, and he was a famous fisherman; and, since 
he lived well, he thought well. All unexpectedly, there was a 
loud call in our great country for just such a man as I am tell- 
ing you about; and the man, who had never done anything but 
walk and fish and think, put his wonderful personality before 
the world forever, so well did he obey the call of his country- 
men. The words of the proud patriot are still ringing in the 
ears of all who love the United States of America. ' But as for 
me, give me Liberty, or give me death!' But why do I speak 
of him to you who are oflf on a walking tour? Just because 
I believe that you are getting into your personality something 
of the power and vigor of Patrick Henry; it is a brand of 
strength that one cannot gain by riding on trolley cars, and it 
travels from the toes up. 

Yours all the way," 

G. R. Merriam, Director of Boys' Work, Port- 
land, Me., encouraged the party thus: 

"Greetings from the Student, Junior, and Employed Boy's 
Departments of the Young Men's Christian Association, Port- 
land, Maine, to the Good Will Farm, Y. M. C. A., boys on the 
' Hike ' to Sebec Lake. 

Say fellows, do any of you wish you hadn't come? I know 
you don't, I wish I could be with you myself. Are your feet 
sore? Joints stiff? Never mind little things like that, you'll 
forget all about those things in a few days. And think how 
you will sleep tonight! 

Some day you'll thank God that you had the opportunity 
and the physical strength to take such a 'Hike.' It is only 



84 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

a few miles more to the Lake. Take it easy but get there. 
Don't forget — you have an aim — ' I press toward the mark, ' 
'Quit you like men, be strong.' 

Your true friend," 

E. M. Robinson, International Secretary of 
Boys' Work, forwarded this for the inspiration of 
all who should hear it : 

"To the Good Will Association Boys on their thirty-two 
mile tramp I should like to quote the words which Spenser 
wrote so long ago: 

' When ye houses were made of straw 
Ye men were made of oak; 
Now ye houses are made of oak 
And ye men are made of straw.' 

"I consider this tramp which the boys are undertaking a 
most excellent thing in the cultivation of the oak timber of 
Good Will. I cannot help thinking of that memorable walk 
of Adoniram Judson's; the miles he walked on the blistering 
sands as a prisoner, when every footprint left its bloody track 
from his blistered feet. 

"One of our Boys' Departments has organized as 'The City 
of Sparta,' and in certain respects which you can easily im- 
agine, they are endeavoring to produce a Spartan character. 

"If I were writing a letter which G. W. Hinckley was not 
to see, I might mention also one or more of the virtues of the 
aboriginal Indians, for they had virtues as well as vices, and 
our present civilization is weaker because the white papooses 
of our cities are pampered rather than trained to endure." 

W. H. Burger, State Secretary of Boys' Work, 
New York, had an inspiring message in the fol- 
lowing language : 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 85 

"To the Good Will Trampers: 

When the Norman conqueror of Britain stepped from a 
small boat onto the shore of the enemy's country, he stumbled 
and fell prone upon the beach. A courtier standing by re- 
marked in an undertone, 'My! but that is a bad sign.' Wil- 
liam's quick ear caught the remark of the courtier and instead 
of rising at once to his feet, he dug his fingers down into the 
gravel and then, raising himself to his full height and lifting his 
hands above his head, he declared, 'Thus do I seize the land.' 

It was this spirit of indomitable and unconquerable per- 
severance which made him master of all England a few weeks 
later. 

With kind regards, etc." 

There was a deal of good cheer in the greeting 
of W. H. Gibson, State Secretary of Boys' Work 
in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, which ran 
thus: 

"To the Good Will Boys:— 

Here is a bit of verse by Riley which I want to give you as 
my message: 

'It ain't no use to grumble and complain; 
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice; 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W'y rain's my choice. 

In this existence, dry and wet 
Will overtake the best of men — 
Some little shift o' clouds '11 shet 
The sun off now and then; 
They ain't no sense as I can see 
In mortals such as you and me 
A-faultin' Nature's wise intents, 
And lockin' horns with Providence.' 

May this tramp be the best ever." 



86 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Secretary R. A. Jordan, of the Bangor Y. M. C. A., 
and a director of the Good Will Home Association, 
hinted at larger things than the Sebec trip, when 
he greeted the boys in characteristic fashion, 
saying : 

" Some one has said, ' It is as easy to do great things as small 
if you only know how.' The only way to learn to do great 
things is to do small things well; put up a good fight in this 
hike and it helps you in the bigger hike called life. Keep on 
going." 

And C. B. Horton, at that time State Secretary 
of Boys' Work, Pennsylvania, seemed to hit the 
nail on the head, as had all the rest, when he wrote: 

"Tis the coward who quits to misfortune; 
'Tis the calf who bawls all the day; 
'Tis the fool who wins half the battle, 
Then throws all his chances away. 

The time to succeed is when others, 
Discouraged, show traces of tire; 
The battle is fought on the home stretch 
And won 'tween the flag and the wire." 



It was a particularly happy bunch of boys that 
retired on the night of March 17 at Good Will a 
little earlier than usual. It was an equally happy 
bunch that jumped out of the beds the next morn- 
ing when Curtis, having been impressed the night 
before with his responsibility for waking the boys, 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 87 

made a round of the rooms and thumped on the 
door promptly at four o'clock. 

For twenty minutes there was life, abundant life; 
noise, irrepressible noise, and enthusiasm without 
limit. At the end of that time I returned from a 
trip to the veranda and said : 

"Boys, we are in the midst of a blizzard that bids 
fair to increase in fierceness and last at least a 
day or two; the wind blows a gale from the north- 
east and the air is full of snow." 

Then there was quiet on the second floor in Buck- 
minster; a wave of silence made slow progress on 
the first floor where several of the boys had slept, 
but the news finally reached every pair of ears and 
each heart and there was depression of spirits. 

But it proved to be only a March squall for at 
four forty-five the wind had backed into the north- 
west and stars were in sight overhead. At five fif- 
teen eighteen boys with cheers and calls started 
from the Buckminster, at the same time that the 
morning train from the North slowed down at Good 
Will station to take on Principal Watson, the two 
cooks and myself. 

As we journeyed to the South it seemed to us 
that the boys were fortunate; the traveling was 
good ; for the snow squall of a few minutes had im- 
proved the walking, if indeed enough snow had 
fallen to have any effect at all, and the temperature 
was ideal for the trip. But five miles east of Water- 
ville appearances began to change. More snow had 



88 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

fallen; the trees were laden with it, and though 
it was such a scene as we had never witnessed before 
— -the branches of the pines and spruce bending 
under their white load and making a fairy picture 
of rare beauty — I was confident that further north 
where the boys were tramping the snow was as 
deep, perhaps several inches deeper, and progress 
must be slow and difficult. After changing cars 
at Newport, every possible doubt was removed; 
for, before reaching Dexter the train was moving 
through snow six inches deep — eight inches — ten 
inches — a foot or more; and I knew that the Good 
Will boys must be facing the stunt of their lives. 
To add to the difficulty the wind had begun to 
blow and as the snow was light it was scudding in 
clouds across lakes and over hills, filling in roads. 
What would pedestrians do on such a day and in 
such conditions? But this was a March trip; it 
had been understood from the beginning that there 
would be uncertainties, hard experiences, unfavor- 
able weather and a lack of many of the features 
that make a summer outing enjoyable. 

When we stepped from the train at Dexter, Wil- 
son, a former Good Will boy, a student in the Dexter 
High School, was waiting for us. He had come 
to the train to see if we were on board. No one in 
Dexter had regarded it as probable that we would 
make the start in a blizzard, and a blizzard — not 
the western blizzard, but the only kind we have in 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 89 

Maine, which is a heavy snow storm and very low 
temperature — had been in progress all night. 

"Of course," said men who knew about the pro- 
posed tramp, "they will wait till the roads are open 
and conditions favorable." 

But we had arrived, the boys were somewhere 
between Dexter and Good Will; beyond that we 
had no knowledge. By using a telephone we 
learned later that the Good Will party was in Canaan 
village at 8.20 A. M., and the boys had telephoned 
to Hartland that they would take dinner in that 
place, but would be at least an hour and a half 
behind their schedule on account of unbroken roads. 

It was a quiet afternoon that the two boys and 
I spent in the cottage; but we speculated much 
as to when the boys would arrive and as the hours 
wore by we began to watch. 

"I think they will be here at quarter past five," 
said Jeff. 

"I say it will be quarter of six," said Chauncey, 
the cookee. 

I assured them that so far as I could judge the 
boys would arrive at just 6.20 P. M. 

But quarter past five came and passed; so did 
quarter of six and even six twenty, and the sun set, 
and there was no token that the boys were near; 
and "Three were fagged out and all were very 
tired" even at the noon hour as far away as Hart- 
land. 

I looked out of the window across the lake at 



90 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

short but irregular intervals. I sat in front of 
the open fire and tried to "just set and not think," 
but that was out of the question. I went to the 
cabinet organ several times and improvised, but each 
time I found myself producing minor chords and 
following mournful strains. 

I tried to turn the lights higher, but could add 
nothing to the cheerfulness of the place; it was 
cheerful enough as it was but something was lack- 
ing. Supper was ready. It is sorrowful to prepare 
supper for twenty and have no one present at 
supper time but the two cooks and yourself. It 
was long after the glow had faded from the west 
and the lamps had been lighted that the cook and 
the cookee came in from the veranda and said: 

**It's so dark now that we can't see; it's no use 
to try to watch any longer." 

It was twenty minutes after that when there was 
a sound of many voices out on the lake; a team 
appeared and the boys began to cheer. And answer- 
ing cheers went back to them from the veranda. 

"The boys are all here but one," said Mr. Watson, 
"I am here to report that just as we were taking 
the train at Hartland, Lute said to one of the other 
fellows : 

*' 'Don't you tell Mr. Watson, but I am going to 
walk to Dexter' ; and turning about Lute walked 
in another direction. I have telephoned to a man 
on the route over which he will probably go to speak 
to him when he passes, and if Lute will not stop, 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 91 

the man is Instructed to stop him by force or keep 
him and bring him through in a sleigh. Lute is 
one of the boys who was fagged out at Hartland. 
I did not know what had happened till just as the 
train was to start for Pittsfield, and I have done 
all that I could. What I fear is that he will get 
tired and fall out by the way — I can't tell what 
will happen." 

''He should not have done it; the boys were to 
keep together," was about all that I could say. 

Mr. Watson was to pass the night in the village 
with friends, and left the cottage to ride back with 
Wilson. 

After they had gone, I learned something of the 
boys' experiences on their journey. 

Soon after leaving Good Will in the morning 
they began to encounter heavy roads, but the first 
six miles were made with comparative ease. After 
leaving Canaan the snow deepened; it was neces- 
sary for them to break the road most of the way 
and this they did, the leader holding his position 
for ten minutes, then falling to the rear, letting the 
next in order lead for the same length of time. 

They had reached Hartland safely though some 
were very tired; they had taken dinner and a 
rest; an effort had been made to secure a team or 
teams to help them the last sixteen miles from Hart- 
land to Dexter, but the stage carrying the United 
States mail had not been able to get through and 
no one was willing to "harness up" and try it. 



92 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

It was finally decided to make the rest of the journey 
to Dexter by way of the Sebasticook and Moose- 
head Railroad to Pittsfield and thence by way of 
the Maine Central to the village. Mr. Brawn and 
Wilson had heard of this and did not start out to 
meet the party, but were at the Dexter station 
to greet them instead and to bring them to the 
cottage. All were feeling finely and were in good 
spirits; but it was a grave question what had be- 
come of Lute. He was a lost comrade; he was 
lost through his own determination to do the thing 
which others had undertaken and been forced to 
give up. 

The evening was like other evenings in such a 
place and under like circumstances. The supper 
was hearty and enjoyed; the cabinet organ was 
brought into service; the fire on the hearth blazed 
high or burned low as much or little wood was 
placed upon it; there were stockings to be mended 
and shoes to be dried; fruit to be eaten and songs 
to be hummed. In the course of the long evening 
some quiet games were played; the open fire was 
watched and enjoyed. Experiences along the way 
were related; accounts of the visits to the public 
library, mills, and other places in Pittsfield while 
waiting for the train were given; and finally and 
at a seasonable hour, the boys, tired and happy, ex- 
cept that they did not know what had become of 
Lute, went upstairs to their beds. 

With all the party in one big sleeping room there 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 93 

was much social merriment at first; then voices 
became fewer. At last lights were out. It was 
dark; it was silent. Then there was measured 
breathing in all parts of the room. Then the alarm 
clock which Jeff had set to go off at ten-thirty 
got in its spiteful and disturbing work. 

"Bur — bur-r-r-r bur-r-r-r-r-r", went the nickel- 
plated timepiece. 

"Jeff, Jeff," shouted one of the boys, "it's time 
to get up and start the fire; but there was no 
response from Jeff's bed. From another corner, 
however, someone answering between a muttering 
and a groan said: 

"I should hate to have to get up so early." 

That was the last word from the weary trampers 
that night except that Lush had the toothache, 
for which there was no relief. 

"We haven't a thing here for toothache," I 
explained. "Your teeth should have been in good 
condition before you started for the woods. I've 
heard that ice-cold water or ice itself will benumb 
the nerve in a tooth but I have never tried it and 
I don't know." 

Then Lush went downstairs in the dark and was 
gone long enough to give the suggested cure for 
toothache a fair trial. Softly and cautiously he 
crept up the stairs again in the dark, and as he 
got into bed he explained to his bed fellow : 

" I put some snow on my tooth and I have about 
killed myself; I hope I'll live." 



94 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

But there was no reply. It was the last word 
for the night. 

We should all have been asleep then; we would 
have been, but I could not for a time get out of 
my thought the absent member of the party. 

"If I could only know where he is," I said in 
my heart. 

How could I know or guess that at the very 
moment he was less than half a mile from the 
cottage, in the middle of the lake, tramping through 
the snow and the cold and the wind, straining his 
eyes for the vision of a lighted window? How 
could I know that he was whistling, calling and 
then listening, hoping that through the night there 
might come to him an answering call? 

Later on we got the whole story from Lute him- 
self. When he said to Lush " I am going to walk 
to Dexter" he meant every word he uttered. He 
left the boys at the hotel in Hartland with the 
"do or die" spirit strong in him. From Hartland 
to St. Albans was comparatively easy but beyond 
St. Albans the strong wind and the drifting snow 
made the going hard. It was nine o'clock when he 
reached Dexter. He inquired the way to the El- 
kinstown Club and was soon out in the country 
again wading through heavy snow and facing the 
wind. He reached the lake, and looked in vain 
for a light on the farther shore. He tried to shout 
but it was useless against the wind. " I wish I had 
asked that man more carefully about it," he said 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 95 

to himself, and he retraced his steps to the 
village. 

It was now getting late, but he got minute in- 
structions as to how to reach the Club House, and 
started off again, He reached the lake and this 
time continued far out on its snow laden surface. 
Somewhere in that dark rim of trees was his goal, 
but there was no light and his loudest cries 
awakened no response. 

It was after midnight. There was but one thing 
to do ; he returned to the hotel in Dexter. Weary 
enough to sleep anywhere, he rapped on the door 
and rattled the knob, but no one seemed to hear. 
Seeing a lighted house in the distance, he ap- 
proached and rang the bell with a feeling of 
uncertainty. But it was the home of Mr. Smart, 
who had heard of our lost boy, and who gave him 
a warm welcome, and best of all a cozy room for 
the night. 

"Oh Gee!" exclaimed Lute, "Don't that bed 
look good!" And in a little while he was fast 
asleep. 

He had "walked to Dexter" even as he had 
said he would. 



A real peril had been faced on the journey from 
Dexter to the cottage at Deep Cove Point. There 
was nothing dangerous in the walk; there was 
nothing serious to be feared in the surroundings; 



96 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

but there was ground for suspicion and uneasiness 
on my part. As the boys walked toward Fox- 
croft the warmth from the sun increased ; the boys 
quickened their pace and when they reached the 
village they were perspiring freely. To have 
boarded a sleigh then, for a ride through the woods, 
would have resulted in disaster without doubt; 
but the time taken for dinner was something of 
a safeguard. There was not an overcoat in the 
party; what use had they for extra clothing of any 
kind? The real risk was run when they seated 
themselves in the sleigh, their clothing still warm 
and damp from the twelve mile tramp, and settled 
down for the ride through the forest and up the 
lake. It was more than a risk; it would be safe to 
say that colds and fevers were sure to result. But, 
strange to relate, only one boy succumbed before 
the test ; that boy was Kiko. 

It was after midnight when hoarse sounds pro- 
ceeded from the room in which Principal Watson 
and his party of pedestrians were resting. It was 
still later when, unable to sleep because of anxiety, 
I arose and lighting a candle made my way out of 
my room through the dining-room and kitchen to 
their headquarters. 

Kiko was asleep; but his hoarse coughing was 
ominous. There was no question about it; his 
crimson cheeks and short breath told the story; 
Kiko was sick. The chill he had experienced the 
day before, when he had been forced to sit in the 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 97 

sleigh after his warm walk, had got in its work; 
fever had followed. 

At an earlier hour than anyone had planned, all 
were up in the morning. It was Sunday — our only 
Sunday — in the woods. The cook and cookee did 
their work well ; it was always thus, and at a sea- 
sonable hour the table was cleared and we were 
ready for the day. 

It was a perfect morning; the icebound, snow- 
covered lake glistened in the sunlight; Boarstone 
Mountain, white, dignified, silent, seemed to be 
only a mile away. 

" I have decided I want to climb that mountain," 
said one of the boys, "do you suppose we can do it 
today?" 

"That mountain!" I exclaimed. "Why that is 
old Boarstone; it's the highest peak but one I be- 
lieve in Maine; it is second to Katahdin at least, 
but it's more than a dozen miles away. To climb 
it you will have to overcome ten or a dozen miles 
of snow five feet deep in the forest, and then you 
will only be at the foot of it; no one could reach 
the summit now." 

A look of disappointment was the only reply. 

At 10.30 A. M. a big chunk was added to the 
fuel that blazed in the open fireplace; chairs w^ere 
arranged for the service, and the worshippers were 
seated ready for a meeting somewhat unlike those 
that w^ere just beginning at that hour in the 
churches in Maine "settlements." 



98 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"What hymns will probably be sung in chapel 
at Good Will today?" I asked. 

"'Coronation' might be one of them," remarked 
"Allops." 

"And 'Bethany,'" suggested "College." 

"And 'Abide with Me' might be the closing 
one," added Brad. 

"All right; then we will sing these three;" and 
with this announcement the service opened. 

When sermon time came there was no discourse; 
instead we gave our attention to the measuring of 
ourselves, and it came about in a peculiar way. 

A few weeks before I had had an idle half hour 
in a student's room in Bowdoin College. From the 
center table I had taken up a little vellum-covered 
book entitled "Self Measurement," written by 
President William DeWitt Hyde. I was more than 
interested in it; I was delighted as I turned its 
pages and became acquainted with its contents. 

"In the book President Hyde has placed a chart 
or scale; through the center of the scale he has 
placed ten qualities which he calls fundamental; 
if when the questions are asked you can answer 
' yes' to those above the line you will mark yourself 
plus; if to those below the line you must answer 
'yes,' then you must mark yourself minus; when 
we are through you will add together your plus 
figures and your minus figures and subtract the 
smaller number from the larger. The author says: 
'Every sentence in the body of this book except 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 99 

the final sentence in each section which assigns the 
rank is a question rather than a statement.' Now 
take your pencils. Peggy will distribute sheets of 
paper; think as I read and then mark yourself to 
the best of your judgment. Are you ready? 

"We will take first the matter of physique or 
body. Of course I will not read all the questions 
which President Hyde asks, but just enough so 
that you can measure yourselves intelligently. 

"President Hyde says: 'Are you careless about 
diet, irregular at meals, constantly catching cold 
from wet feet or undue exposure? Do you neglect 
to take outdoor exercise every day? Do you sit 
up late at night? Have you a silly ambition to 
take the highest rank in school or society, no mat- 
ter what havoc it works to your health? Then 
you are defective; your rank is minus one. 

" *Do you overeat to the point of dullness or 
dyspepsia; do you plunge into exciting pleasure to 
the extent that you become disinclined to syste- 
matic work and simple pleasures; do you indulge 
appetites, in themselves innocent, to the point of 
exhaustion? Then you are intemperate ; your rank 
is minus two. 

" 'Do you for yourself or others carry overwork, 
under-rest, strain, worry, exposure, unwholesome 
diet, unsanitary surroundings, sensual indulgence 
to the point where you know they are shortening 
life? Then you are a murderer; your rank is 
minus three. 



100 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

" 'Do you eat and drink what you need and no 
more; do you take exercise whenever you need it 
whether you want to or not; do you keep all the 
appetites and passions under such control that 
they ever serve and never injure your physical 
well-being? Then you are a receiver of God's great 
gift of health and your rank is plus one. 

" *Do you plan to keep and increase your phys- 
ical vigor; do you learn and play games that cor- 
rect the unwholesome tendency of your business 
and profession; do you row and sail and swim 
and climb and hunt and fish and play golf or ten- 
nis; do you meet life as a conqueror? Then you 
have physical vigor; your rank is plus two. 

" 'Do you radiate happiness, scatter good cheer, 
kindle enthusiasm wherever you go; do you enter 
with such intensity into whatever you undertake 
that men rally around you? Then you are a nat- 
ural leader of men; your rank is plus three.' " 

There was a pause. One or two of the boys 
looked anxious; one bit his lip in apparent per- 
plexity; two or three smiled slightly, and finally 
I could see that each one had placed plus or minus 
signs upon his paper which he believed to be fair 
and just to himself. 

Then followed the reading of chapters on "Pro- 
perty," "Pleasure," "Science," "Art," "Family," 
"Country," and "ReHgion," with abundant time 
for thought and marking between the chapters. 
Then the papers were collected; a prayer was 




'The Snow was Deep' 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC lOI 

offered; the closing song sung; and the service 
was ended. 

"I was minus ten," said one of the boys, as he 
put his pencil in his pocket with a sigh. 

"I wasn't anything," said another; ''my plusses 
and minuses just balanced; I guess I don't amount 
to much anyway." 

While still another volunteered this information : 

"I was plus twenty, but I guess I must have 
made some mistake." 

But whether anyone was really satisfied with the 
measurement of himself and the moral stature he 
had reached, I do not know. 

"I am so constituted, boys," I said, "that I am 
human seven days in the week; I need exercise as 
much as I did yesterday or as I will tomorrow. I 
go a-walking and I am bound for Buck's Cove 
across the lake three miles away. Who goes?" 

A chorus of "ayes" indicated that I would not 
be alone on the way. 

"That's Granny Cross Mountain," I remarked, 
as I drew near the other side of the lake, "and 
right at the foot of it years ago I camped with a 
party of Good Will boys and my own family. One 
Sunday afternoon — I cannot tell just how many full 
weeks ago it was — I went to the top of the moun- 
tain, and to my delight found httle bushes just 
black with shining huckleberries; the first I had 
ever seen in Maine. There are no huckleberries 



102 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

there this afternoon, my lads; this is a different 
kind of an outing. 

The cottage at Deep Cove Point is attractive 
and spacious; but it is so deep in the woods and 
so far from other occupied dwelHngs that we were 
inclined to speak of it as "Camp" instead of cot- 
tage and this term was used ten times in conversa- 
tion where "Cottage" was used once. The hours 
in camp moved happily and swiftly; there was 
much talk about many things; indoor games were 
played which aroused considerable interest; the 
piano was played some, and the graphophone was 
in almost constant use. It was announced at the 
beginning that only Mr. Watson and myself were 
to operate the machine — not because the manage- 
ment was difficult but as a precaution against 
breakage or careless use; it was the easiest way of 
avoiding accident but we were in danger of degen- 
erating into mere turners of crank — organ grinders, 
if you please; for from early rising till the last 
light was out the graphophone was going or soon 
to start up again. Some years we had enjoyed 
much singing in camp, and if there were musicians 
among us they were encouraged and urged to do 
their best for the entertainment of the company; 
but in this case only a change of record and a turn- 
ing of the crank was desired. A good old-fashioned 
sing seemed out of the question — "Let's have the 
graphophone;" Kiko, who was the best musician 
in the party, might have given us some inspiring 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 103 

music but — "Let's have the graphophone ; " there 
were sacred songs, secular songs, and Good Will 
songs which are a kind of a cross between the two, 
which might have been sung around the blazing 
fire at any time, but "Let's have the graphophone." 
It was a source of amusement, it is true, but it was 
bound to bring about a crisis soon or late and it 
did, but the crisis was late — too late to prevent 
disappointment to some of us. 

One of the questions, often asked before we 
started on the tramp, and asked by those who w^ere 
not going and had never been on such a journey, 
was this: 

"What can you find to do in the woods in 
winter?" 

Let it be said in reply that there is no end of 
amusement in a March camp in Maine. These 
amusements are not the same as one enjoys in the 
summer; with snow on the ground and the north- 
west winds sweeping across miles of lake between 
you and the arctic region one does not stretch 
himself upon turf in the shade or swing under 
leafy branches in a hammock nor troll in the early 
morning nor row just for exercise at evening; if 
these are the only things one can enjoy in the 
woods he must wait for the summer. But winter 
— and March is a part of winter in Maine — has a 
full assortment of outdoor diversions for those who 
like them. 

To begin with, no one at Big Cove Camp ques- 



104 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

tioned the existence of the spectre moose, for there 
was ample evidence that this creature Hved in the 
Maine forest, and who could tell how near he 
might be to us at any time. This monarch of the 
woods first created an excitement in the winter of 
1 90 1-2. Men of a skeptical turn have tried to 
disprove the story and have asserted their belief 
that there is no such giant moose in Maine. But 
there is; of course there is, and every one of us 
believed it. 

The boys made frequent tramps across the lake 
and into the forest and frequent reports were 
brought back of thrilling approaches to his spectre 
moose-ship; sometimes a track had been seen, 
sometimes there were brought back labored and in- 
genious arguments to prove that although no signs 
of this formidable creature had been discovered he 
must be somewhere in our vicinity, and once a 
party which had been to the top of Pine Mountain 
reported that there was a place on the summit 
where there were many deer tracks and something 
had been lying down. Presumably the ' ' something' ' 
was a herd of deer but who could say that the spec- 
tre moose of northern Maine had not put in a 
night there since the last snow storm. It was 
enough to start one's blood to think of it. 

Then there was fishing through the ice. On 
Monday evening Mr. Watson said: "I am going 
to the head of the lake fishing tomorrow," and nine 
boys declared they were going with him. They 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 105 

went. Before the start there were several hours of 
earnest discussion as to the best kind of bait to 
use, the most approved hook to try, the proba- 
biUty of a fine catch, and rumors of a big run of 
smelt up near the "Lake House" were related to 
stir interest and whet enthusiasm. 

In the morning the party, headed by Principal 
Watson, moved single file to the northwest over 
the lake, and returned in the afternoon. When 
they returned, we learned that one pickerel had 
been caught. It was ten inches long. It repre- 
sented one inch of fish for each of the ten fishermen. 
What better thing could have happened for the 
amusement and edification of those who had lin- 
gered in the cam^p? 

A second expedition after fish was organized the 
next day which resulted in only ten inches less of 
fish, but it was fun — of course it was — and fishless 
trips are not characteristic of March alone; they 
have been heard of even in the bright summer 
time. 

And the snow was a source of endless interest 
and amusement. For instance, on Wednesday 
morning I was standing in a group of boys; Pod 
was so near me that I felt quite sure he would 
respond when I called indirectly for a companion. 
No one had stood the journey better than Pod; 
no one was readier for a skirmish at a moment's 
notice ; no one entered more fully into the outdoor 
sports, 



I06 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"I am going for a twenty minutes' walk over 
the lake," I said, "twenty minutes out and twenty 
minutes back. You see I've got to do something 
for a change. I want one fellow for company — 
only one. Who goes?" 

"I do," said Pod. 

"Good enough," I said, "come on." 

Straight to the northeast we traveled; the crust 
was hard, the sun was shining brightly, and the 
lake was like a spotless floor carpeted with crystals. 
We talked of many things; of the crispness of the 
air, of the apparent friendliness of Boarstone 
Mountain as it stood, seeming so near to us and 
yet so far away; of the good spirit in camp; of 
the prospect that Kiko would recover without hav- 
ing pneumonia, and that Bud, who had been sick 
all night and suffered pains that we could neither 
relieve nor understand, would come out all right. 

Then I stopped. Backing off from Pod till I 
stood three feet from him I looked him squarely 
in the eye. Pod smiled. 

"We are a mile from camp, aren't we?" I asked. 

"All of that I should think," he replied. 

"And the fellows are all in the cottage out of 
hearing of us, aren't they?" 

"Guess they are," said Pod, still unsuspecting. 

" I don't suppose they would hear us if we should 
shout would they?" I continued. 

"Doubtful," said Pod, now wondering what I 
was driving at. 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 107 

"They wouldn't be likely to hear if you should 
call for help, would they?" 

"I can't tell," said Pod, smiling, but beginning 
to get suspicious. 

"Do you know why I came out here with you?" 
I queried, still gazing steadfastly into his eye. 

"For a walk, I suppose," answered Pod. 

"Well, I will tell you. I came — " and making 
a sudden spring at Pod I put an arm around his 
neck, thrust one foot between his knees, and in an 
instant we were in the fiercest kind of a combat. 

"I came — let go my collar — out here so that I 
— no you don't, old man, you didn't get me then — 
so't I could — put — you down — and — oh you are 
choking me, you rascal, you scoundrel — let go — 
so't I could put you on your back — and — 

Pod was fighting for all he was worth; he was 
getting short-winded, his breath came thick and 
fast; he panted. He said when we got back that 
I wheezed. Perhaps I did, but the struggle went 
furiously and joyously on till we seemed to be bal- 
anced in the air for half a minute and it was clear 
that we would both go over, but in which direc- 
tion was still unsettled until — thud ; we were both 
down and Pod went first, and was the under one 
in the conflict. 

Straightening his arms out in the snow as I sat 
astride him I finished my remark which had been 
interrupted: "Came out here so I could put you 
down and give your peachy cheeks the biggest 



I08 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

rub they have had in many a long day, sonny; 
take that," and with these words I began to rub his 
cheeks vigorously with frozen snow. 

"Let me up. Let me — " 

"No you don't. Lie still and take some more 
of it. Take that," and the process continued till 
Pod submitted, without struggling, to the snowy 
ordeal. Then releasing him I extended both my 
hands, which he seized, laughingly, and struggled 
to his feet. 

Fun? Well, it was unlike anything I ever did 
in a summer camp; and, with our arms over each 
other's shoulders, rosy-faced Pod and I trudged 
happily back toward the cottage. We had gone a 
quarter of a mile, I think, toward the camp and 
the subject of conversation had changed two or 
three times. I was telling Pod what I had heard 
the boys say and what I had read about the spec- 
tre-moose when a sentence which I attempted was 
broken short off in the midst. 

"No," I was saying, "there is no probability 
that the fellows will see him; it is safe to say that 
the big moose is not within fifty miles of us, but it 
is pleasant to keep up the bluff and — look out — 
what are you — let go I tell you — let go," but Pod 
had watched his chance, taken me unawares, and 
thrusting his foot between my knees as I walked, 
and seizing me about the neck at the same instant, 
he had me prostrate in the snow with only the 
briefest kind of a struggle on my part. 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 109 

"Do you know what I have got you down here 
for," he said, as he sat astride my prostrate body, 
and reached out each hand to gather material; 
" 'twas so I could — " and then he gave my face 
the severest rubbing with that sandy crisp snow that 
I had ever experienced. 

Then after Pod had released me and with ex- 
tended hands helped me to my feet, happy in a 
comradeship which had been strengthened by this 
snowy encounter, we trudged back to camp. 

There are things which one can do on a summer 
outing, but he cannot take a walk like that; nor 
will he return to a canvas tent in July or August 
with cheeks as rosy as were Pod's on that winter 
morning. 

Organized outdoor sports also have a place in a 
March camp. Field-day athletics came off in due 
form, there were the "shot put," when a big snow 
ball was used instead of a shot; the "hammer 
throw" when the camp axe was substituted for the 
hammer, and which always landed in the deep 
snow, head down, handle perpendicular. There 
were dashes of different distances, the throwing of 
the snowball, in place of the baseball, and jump- 
ing; all these and other events were carefully re- 
corded, by a duly appointed scorer, and the records 
were finally lost. 

A lot of boys can be trusted to improvise amuse- 
ments which will prove entirely satisfactory to 



no ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

themselves on such an occasion. "Plugging" 
snowballs at a hole in the gable-end of the ice- 
house at Deep Cove was one of these; this was a 
daily amusement until the end. 

Jumping from the roof of the cottage onto a high 
snow-drift bid fair to be equally popular until one 
of the boys in a "flying high jump" landed with 
one foot in the drift and the other on the end of 
an upright post which was concealed in the snow. 
The incident suggested the possibility of other 
hidden objects in the drift and that kind of jumping 
was abandoned without advice or argument. 

Snow quoits were popular, and, so far as we 
know, an entirely new game, for which the Sebec 
hikers should receive due credit. Snow quoits can- 
not be played in summer time, mind you; they 
are a March game in the woods, on ice, when the 
snow is deep and soft. A hole must first be dug 
through the snow to the ice ; then a hole, eighteen 
inches in diameter, must be cut through the ice to 
water. The water will come up to the top of the 
ice, but no farther. This leaves a hole in the snow 
perhaps two feet in diameter, and as deep as the 
snow happens to be — two feet, three feet, more or 
less. A supply of snowballs must be made — these 
are to be round, hard, and smooth; each player 
should have the same number ready — four or six. 

The players take their stand at a distance from 
the hole agreed upon before the game begins. 
Each player pitches his snowballs, trying to send 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC III 

as many as possible into the water in the hole. 
Many of the balls will land in the sides of the hole 
and be imbedded in the damp snow, but these do 
not count. Only those that land plump in the water 
are to be credited. After the game is ended the 
balls in the water must be got out in some way, 
and this task is regarded as good exercise and a 
fitting penalty for the one who made the poorest 
score. In snow quoits, as in the summer game, 
eleven is the full score. 



In the narrow limits of a winter camp in deep 
woods life would become monotonous if definite 
plans were not made to get variety. The monotony 
would not settle down on the camp in one day or 
in three; but beyond that time, in a boys' camp, 
there would be grave danger. 

I had definite plans for variety. I had told my 
rugged young companions about them before we 
left home. I did not ask whether they had adopted 
the same plans but I supposed they had. I knew 
the graphophone was to be there, but I had given 
it only a small place in my scheme for evening 
amusements. The program as I had it in mind 
called for a camp fire on Tuesday evening. At 
this function each person was to place a stick on the 
fire, tell a story, or sing a song or crack a joke. 
Wednesday evening there was to be a competitive 
entertainment. Mr. Watson's section was to give 



112 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

one-half of the program; my section was to give 
the other half; each section was to have the other 
fellows for an audience. As I looked the party 
over it seemed to me that, in ability, the division 
was eminently fair and equal. Thursday evening 
there was to be a banquet — such a banquet as the 
ordinary camp larder would afford, and a few extra 
dishes for which special supplies had been pur- 
chased. 

Life in camp went as usual Tuesday: there was 
lots of fun in door and out, and the graphophone 
was always available. Kiko was still in bed cough- 
ing badly; Bud was all out of condition, but the 
rest were in rugged health and the best of spirits. 
Just after the supper dishes were removed from 
the dining room, there was a knock at the door; 
two Foxcroft Academy students had come from a 
nearby camp to spend the evening; they were 
welcome, indeed, for they would add two persons to 
the party, and perhaps they would add each his 
stick to the fire and his voice to story telling and 
song. The popper was on duty as they entered; 
two or three boys were fussing over the fire and the 
odor of fresh pop corn loaded the air. A few min- 
utes later the graphophone was stopped, for the 
hour of the campfire had come. 

"Who'll be first?" I asked. 

There was an awkward silence; no one moved. 

"The first will be a round in three parts," I 
announced, and Rose, College and I took our stand 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II3 

near the piano, and after College had placed a small 
stick on the fire, we performed our stunt. We had 
quietly rehearsed the old round which was popular 
in my boyhood but which Rose and College had 
never heard. In honor of the "cuckoo clock" 
which had contributed considerable to our amuse- 
ment at times by its timely or untimely cuckooing, 
we inserted the word "clock" and sang: 

"Sweet the pleasure of the spring, 
When we hear the cuckoo clock sing" 

— sang it till all three of us were into it and all out 
again ; in fact we sang it till the boisterous laughter 
of the audience made it useless for us to sing any 
longer and we sat down. Then I made a mistake; 
at least I still think that had I related some brief 
incident others might have followed. But lest the 
other parts should be short, and the exercises come 
to an early end, I had prepared to take some time 
myself and, placing a stick on the fire, I half read 
and half related from memory the following experi- 
ence in an earlier camp: 

"I told you that sometime I would give you an 
account of my first camping experience. It was 
in Connecticut, and there were three of us in the 
party. 

"Ben and Rad and I used to talk a great deal 
about the woods. We wanted to go camping. Ben 
had no parents, Rad's were willing he should go, but 
my own parents objected. Father thought it was 



114 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

foolishness for us to go off and sleep under a tent, 
and mother was afraid if we went something would 
happen. And she was right. Something happened 
the very first day we were in camp. Mother was 
always right. When I was seventeen years old 
father told me he could not educate me, but if I 
wanted to leave home and try to get an education, 
and 'shift for myself,' I could go. I accepted his 
offer, but after that I spent considerable time on 
the farm helping him. One day I said to my 
parents, 'I see it's no use, you don't want me to 
camp out, and so I won't do it, not till I'm twenty- 
one, and then we'll see.' I was twenty-one the 
twenty-seventh day of July, and we three fellows, 
Ben, Rad and I, had all our plans laid to camp out 
the twenty-eighth of that self -same month. But 
it rained all night and when morning came it was 
hopelessly wet. But the neighbors said about ten 
o'clock that it probably wouldn't rain any more, 
and so we hurried around and got started about 
eleven. We didn't need sunshine, we thought, 
and the mist and fog could not dampen our ardor. 
We proposed to spend four days on the shores of 
West Pond, a sheet of water in the north part of the 
town. It was seven miles from our homes, and 
by one o'clock we were there, and the driver had 
started back with the team. He was to come for us 
four days later. I knew what time it was, for I had 
taught school the winter before, and had bought 
a Swiss watch with a part of my winter's salary. 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II5 

"Everything was wet. We pitched a wet tent 
on wet ground, under wet trees. Hurriedly throw- 
ing our goods under the tent, we went to the boat 
which we had rented — a long, narrow structure, 
with decided tendencies to leakage, but the bottom 
had been treated to a fresh coat of tar that very 
morning. There was a rope but no anchor, and 
we selected a round stone of about twenty pounds 
weight to take its place. This we fastened to the 
rope and called it the 'Kellec,' though where we 
got the name I cannot tell. 

"Rad said he was 'hungry as twenty bears,' and 
Ben said he 'lowed that he couldn't stand it much 
longer without something to eat,' for we had tasted 
nothing since early breakfast. So we rowed the 
boat out to the fishing ground, and baited our 
hooks. How the fish did bite! Not 'speckled 
beauties,' but yellow perch and hornpout. On 
such food did we propose to live for four days. 

'"Just feel of this water,' said Rad, when we 
had caught fish enough for a meal. 'Let's have a 
swim.' 

'"AH right, let's,' replied Ben and I together, 
and we proceeded to prepare for a plunge in the 
middle of the pond. Rad and Ben were quickly 
in the water, but I dreaded the plunge. It seemed 
as though I ought not to dive, but I couldn't tell 
why, and it required all the courage I could muster. 
The other fellows both acted nervous, and when I 
came up from my dive, and the boat was between 



Il6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

them and myself, I heard one of them say to the 
other in a startled tone, 'Where's George?' as though 
they were expecting something would happen. 
We soon tired of the swim, for we had been accus- 
tomed to the salt water of Long Island Sound, and 
this inland pond lacked the buoyancy of the sea. 
We all clambered into the boat at once and stood 
up. The boat tipped to one side. Each one in- 
stinctively stepped to the opposite side to right it, 
and quicker than I can tell it, the boat was bottom 
side up, we were in the pond and our clothing was 
floating about us. 

''It seemed to us a huge joke. We laughed and 
engaged in all manner of pleasantries while we were 
turning the boat over and trying to bail it out with 
a tin pail which had been stored under a seat. 
But our efforts were useless. 'Fellows,' I said, 
when the seriousness of the situation dawned upon 
me, 'This is no joke. We'd better stop laughing, 
for we are a long way from shore and we'll need 
all the strength we haye before we get there.' 
And they both agreed. 

" 'Come,' I said to Ben, 'Can't you help me head 
this old tub toward the shore?' and we labored 
hard, greatly puzzled over the way the boat kept 
bottom side up, and the difificulty we were having in 
heading it toward the shore. While we were still 
trying for it, I discovered that Rad was two or 
three rods from us and swimming shoreward. 

'"Where are you going, Rad?' I exclaimed. 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC II7 

"'Going ashore with these clothes,' he replied, 
as he continued his course. 

" 'Come back, Rad, come back,' I pleaded. 

"'No,' he replied, 'I'm all right, I've got an oar 
in case I get tired.' 

"'See here,' I shouted, 'You are not going home 
to report us in the bottom of this pond, and we're 
not going home to report you there. We'll go 
home together, or we'll go down together. Come 
back.' 

"Reluctantly he obeyed the command which I 
really had no right to give, and returned to us. 
Rad was one side the boat, Ben was the other side, 
and I at the end farthest from the shore. The boat 
was wrong end to and bottom side up, but it was 
the best we could do, and so all three laboring to 
help the clumsy thing along we began to make a 
little progress. But we had gone only a few rods 
when Rad turned deathly pale and said: 'It's all 
up, fellows, I can't — go — any — further.' 

"'CHmb on to the boat,' we both exclaimed in a 
breath. He summoned up strength and made a 
spring, but the boat rolled over and Rad was in 
the water. The second time he failed, but the 
third time, aided by Ben's strong arm, he succeeded 
in getting a hold, and the work of getting to the 
shore was left to two of us. Our progress was slow. 
The wind which came up shortly after we began to 
fish, had driven the mist away, and the sun had 
been shining hotly. As Rad lay on the freshly 



Il8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

tarred bottom of the boat, and Ben and I labored 
silently, a black cloud shut out the sun and we heard 
the first mutterings of a coming storm. 

"'I say, fellows,' suddenly exclaimed Ben, 'the 
Kellec's dragging, and has been all the time. We're 
stupids.' 

"He made a sudden dive and came up with the 
'Kellec' slipped off the rope, and the stone which 
had retarded our progress and which had served 
to keep the boat wrong side up, went to the bot- 
tom, and I suppose it's still there. It didn't take 
long with the rope tied around Ben's arm, and 
Ben leading off, while I pushed, to reach the shore. 
And when we stood on a round, solid ledge on the 
east side of the pond, I said: 

'"Boys, if we never had anything to thank God 
for before, we have now.' 

*"We looked out on the lake and could see three 
straw hats floating to the south. There were three 
garments in the boat, my pants, Ben's shirt and 
vest. The rest of our clothing was out in the pond . 

"'We can get it all,' we said, 'except our shoes.' 

" But a surprise was in store for us. We righted 
the boat and rowed out to the scene of the mishap, 
and learned that clothing will sink. 

"Til tell you,' said Rad, 'why my pants sunk. 
My jack-knife was in the pocket.' 

"'Mine too,' said Ben. 

" 'I can tell you then why my vest sunk, I sup- 
pose,' said I. 'My new watch that I had to have 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC IIQ 

last winter and paid for this spring was in the 
pocket.* But it's a fact that clothing will sink 
anyway. 

"We recovered our hats and went to camp. We 
kept up good courage, till, wearing the three gar- 
ments which had been found in the boat, I started 
for the nearest farms to borrow dry garments for 
three of us, and assured the boys I would travel 
and borrow till I had secured enough for all. Then 
Rad's courage failed. 

"'Ben,' he exclaimed, as he lay disconsolate 
under the tent, 'I'm tired of this. Can't we go 
home in some way?' 

" But neighbors were kind and the garments 
were secured, and we had a comfortable night, 
after we had eaten a seven o'clock dinner of cakes 
and fried fish, and drank coffee of our own drawing. 
But the team didn't come after us. We didn't 
wait for it. Our friends scarcely knew us, as in 
borrowed garments we reached home, and we were 
so footsore from walking seven miles in borrowed 
shoes, which probably had never fitted anyone, that 
we hardly knew ourselves. 

"This happened years ago. Ben studied law in 
New York State; Rad is a practising physician in 
Connecticut; I entered the ministry, and have 
spent my life so far in Maine. But let me give you 
this bit of advice, boys. When you go in swimming 
leave your clothing on the shore." 

After a bit of rather indifferent hand-clapping, 



120 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Peggy, who sat near the fireplace, arose, placed a 
stick on the fire and in admirable form recited 
"The Deacon's Ride." When Peggy got through 
there was a round of applause. Then there was a 
hush. No one moved. 

"Who is next?" I asked, but there was no reply. 

The awkwardness increased, and it dawned 
upon me that there had been no preparation for the 
occasion by anyone except those that had said their 
say and already done their part. It was a wretched 
failure — this so-called "camp fire" — and I thought 
I knew why. There seemed to be an unwritten 
law in camp, or at least there was an unexpressed 
theory, that it wasn't worth while to get ready to 
entertain the rest, when right in the corner of the 
room was the graphophone that could be wound up 
and started on its mission at a moment's notice. 

"Camp fire is at an end," I said, and someone 
else said: "Let's have the graphophone"; and so 
we had it, and popped corn and munched it till the 
hour grew late and the Foxcroft Academy students 
who had been silent witnesses of the failure of one 
feature of the week's program, said "Good night" 
and started across the glistening snow over the 
drifts to their own lodgings. 

The next day I said nothing about the plan for 
the evening, but quietly resolved that unless 
others mentioned the proposed entertainment, it 
should go by default. I was interested — intensely 
interested — to see what would come of it. Kiko 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 121 

was now in bed; Bud's head was bandaged, but he 
suffered less pain. Peggy came in from a long 
tramp on the crust and a mountain climb with a 
headache; but the rest were in fine fettle. Not a 
word was said about the entertainment, and the 
evening was passed as others had been with games, 
some conversation, and alas, and alack! the grapho- 
phone. So far the program was nil and I was 
laying it to that "talking machine" over in the 
corner grinding out its songs, band music and jokes 
in response to the turning of the crank. 

About nine o'clock Thursday morning, as AUops 
came from a game of water quoits, he asked me 
some question about the banquet. 

"What banquet?" I asked, as though it were a 
new Idea to me, for it was the first time that any 
part of the program for the week had been first 
mentioned by any but myself. 

"Why, the banquet tonight," replied Allops. 
"It was the camp fire night before last, and the 
entertai — ^well, there was to have been an enter- 
tainment or a show or something last night and a 
banquet tonight." 

"Til tell you frankly," I said to Allops, "that 
just as the boy who was eating the apple said 'there 
ain't going to be no core,' so 'there ain't going to 
be no banquet.' " 

Allops seemed to be very thoughtful for a couple 
of minutes and then, without comment, he moved 
slowly away. 



122 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

I noticed not long after AUops left that some 
mysterious movements were in progress. Occa- 
sionally the door into the south room would open 
and a boy would pass in or out and then the door 
would shut quickly. Kiko was now up and able 
to sit by the fireplace and read; Bud could sit up 
at intervals for a few minutes, till the pains in his 
head would send him back to bed again. Once 
when the door into the south room opened I thought 
I heard the crackle of burning wood, but that did 
not seem probable to me, for though there was a 
Franklin fireplace in that room, no fire had been 
started there to my knowledge or under my direc- 
tion and I knew of no reason why the Franklin 
should be used. 

About eleven o'clock two boys came to me, and 
in a very formal but cordial manner, informed me 
that my presence was greatly desired in the next 
room. I responded to the call and as I entered a 
great fire was blazing in the Franklin and had 
already diffused a pleasant warmth through the 
room; there was a general air of comfort and 
brightness that I had not seen there before. More- 
over, there was an air of expectancy — a something 
that seemed to say, "we wonder how it will work 
and how our little scheme will pan out." 

"This easy chair is for you," said College, as he 
stood behind a great rocker, his hands resting upon 
its back while he waited for me to be seated in it 
and in front of the hot blaze . 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 123 

"Well, well," I exclaimed, as I sat down in the 
easy chair, "this is something like it. Who would 
think that an open fire would make so much differ- 
ence in the appearance and atmosphere of a room? 
Isn't it fine?" 

There was an awkward silence; I gazed stead- 
fastly at the cheerful fire. 

"You'll have to say it, College," said one of the 
boys, glancing at him. 

"We — we wanted to asked about the banquet 
tonight," ventured College. 

"What banquet?" quoth I, inquiringly. 

"Why, we understood," said College, "that 
there was to be a camp fire night before last, an 
entertainment last night, and a banquet tonight." 

"O yes," I said. "That was the plan, wasn't 
it?" 

"Yes, sir," replied College, and he seemed to 
take hope that the scheme — the fire, the easy 
chair, and the great deference paid me as I had 
entered the room — was having the desired effect, 
"Yes, sir." 

"Well, there isn't going to be any banquet. 
There was to have been a camp fire with burning 
sticks, and song and story in which all were to 
have had some share, each doing something for 
the entertainment of the others. The thing fell 
flat; only two or three of us raised a finger to add 
to its success. You all fell back on the graphophone. 
Last night there was to have been an entertainment. 



124 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

It was announced before we left home that Wed- 
nesday evening would call for forethought and 
preparation. Various little things were brought 
to camp for that special purpose — red fire for tab- 
leaux, little disguises for faces, fireworks for an 
outdoor windup and the like. The boys all knew 
it. But not once yesterday was the evening's 
entertainment mentioned; you fell down again on 
the graphophone, and so long as one of us men will 
wind it up for you, you will all sit around and listen. 
You've heard me say 'I love,' and you've heard me 
say 'I hate.* You've heard me say in public and 
in private that there is just one thing I hate — I 
hate sin ; but today I hate more than I ever hated 
before. I hate two things now — I hate sin and I 
hate a graphophone. The thing is here for our en- 
joyment ; it ought to have been a source of pleasure 
at reasonable intervals. But it has been used and 
used, wound up and run down, wound up and run 
down, until it has interfered with outdoor sports and 
indoor enjoyment. You substituted it for the 
camp fire; by silent consent of all present it was 
substituted for an evening's entertainment that 
would call into activity the natural abilities of the 
fellows in camp and at the same time create a 
friendly rivalry. And now you say 'banquet'; 
but we'll substitute the graphophone for the ban- 
quet also. This is not a show of resentful spirit 
on my part ; it is not retaliatory or anything of the 
kind. We could all have taken part in the pro- 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 125 

posed camp fire and in the show and we didn't. 
Now we are nearing the time for the banquet which 
will require all of Jeff's time and all of Chaunce's 
time in the kitchen to get ready for it; for them it 
will be cook, cook, cook, in order that the rest may 
eat, eat, eat, tonight. Then there will be a raft 
of extra dishes which must be washed by a few 
after the thing is ended and the rest are in bed. 
We'll drop the eating and the post-prandial exer- 
cises. What you fellows were to have done you 
did not do; you substituted the graphophone. 
These other things did not affect the cook and the 
cookee. What they were to have done extra was 
to have come tonight in preparation for the ban- 
quet. By substituting the graphophone for the 
banquet Jeff and Chaunce will be relieved of any 
extra effort, just as the rest of you relieved your- 
selves of any extra effort for the enjoyment of 
the entire party on the previous evening. Do you 
see.f^ 

'* We'll help Jeff and Chaunce do the cooking," 
said College, hopefully. 

"Jeff and Chaunce would have helped in the 
entertainment if you had not substituted the 
graphophone for a little effort. It's too late now. " 

And the fire crackled in the Franklin; and Bud, 
who had sat up and then taken to the bunk in the 
corner of the room with a bandage drawn over his 
eyes, turned uneasily on the blanket, and one or 
two of the boys went quietly out of the room, prob- 



126 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

ably to report the outcome of the council and I 
was allowed to rock in silence before the cheerful 
blaze. 

"Well," said College, "if I had only—" 
And just then someone opened the door to pass 
into the other room and the graphophone belched 
out into "Annie Laurie." 

"There it goes again," I said, "the substitute 
for conversation, the substitute for songs with your 
own God-given voices, the substitute for our whole 
program^ for our evenings here in camp, including 
the banquet. Wind it up and keep it going. There 
are two things I hate — I hate sin and I hate a 
graphophone." 



We arose Friday morning early. 

It rained. 

"Will we go home today?" was the leading 
question. 

"Probably not if the rain continues," was the 
uniform reply. 

" I am glad it rains, " I said to Mr. Watson ift an 
undertone, "for this will give us one more day and 
night in camp. The 'sposh' is so deep on the lake, 
that we can not walk in it, and we will have to stay 
indoors and under cover. The boys can easily 
make a busy and interesting day of it. From what 
I have heard some of them say, I think that if we 
are here that they will run off such a program this 



THROUGH THE SNOW TO SEBEC 127 

afternoon as they might have given Wednesday 
night, and just as soon as I see that they are taking 
that matter up and are going to carry it through, 
we will give directions for a banquet with post- 
prandial speaking tonight. Now that we are going 
to have this long rainy day in camp, it may be best 
that we have not yet exhausted our resource for 
entertainment, and we have not done that by any 
means — it is only the graphophone that is getting 
monotonous. This is going to be the most interest- 
ing day and evening of our entire stay in camp, for 
every boy is ready to do all in his power to make it 
a— What's that, way off at the end of the lake?" 

I happened to glance out of the window, as I 
was speaking, and discovered two teams. 

"Are those teams coming for us?" asked one of 
the boys. "What if they are?" 

They were watched with interest until there was 
no further question. The teams arrived before 
eight o'clock. 

" I told you not to come if it stormed, " I said to 
the driver. 

"Well, I was not quite sure," he replied, "and 
out at the village they said for me to come and so 
I came." 

Each big pung was provided with a long, wide 
piece of white canvas, which when stretched over 
side stakes made a canopy that would protect 
from the rain. 

There was a hurried folding of blankets, straight- 



128 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

ening out of beds, arranging of dishes in the cupboard 
and adjusting of things generally in the cottage, as 
well as a hasty packing of valises and traveling 
bags. In an incredibly short space of time, all 
was ship shape at Deep Cove Point. The baggage 
was loaded and the start was made towards Fox- 
croft village. 

The ride through the woods was not as enjoyable 
as it had been through the crisp atmosphere a 
few days ago. The trees were there, but their 
trunks were black in the rain, the pine branches 
seemed to hang disconsolately and when it did not 
rain the twigs kept dripping water which had 
already been received by them from the clouds. 
But there was fun enough along the way with songs 
and cheers and that night each of the boys slept in 
his own bed at Good Will, and the longest, hardest 
tramp that the Good Will boys had ever taken — 
that tramp to Sebec Lake — was a thing of the past. 



V 

SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 

God made the country and boys. It does not 
appear that the country was created for boys only, 
but it is evident that the Creator intended that 
boys should live in it. It is the best place for them. 
This fact explains the locating of the Good Will 
Homes for boys at least three miles from a village. 
But, not satisfied with this, an arrangement has 
been made each year for ten years past by which a 
number of Good Will boys — ranging from six to 
fifty in number — could devote a few days each 
summer to a more complete return to Nature by a 
visit to lake or forest and a resort to canvas tents 
at night. The summer of 1900 was no exception 
to the rule. The man who usually arranges these 
trips and accompanies the boys, has learned by 
years of experiments and experience that if the 
fishing be good, twenty boys make the best party 
— as to numbers. In any camp of boys there will 
be two or three born fishermen. These fellows 
will want to fish most of the time. If allowed to 
do so, and there are only six or eight or ten or a 
dozen in the party, they either will catch more fish 
than can be eaten, and a wicked waste follows, or 
they must be restrained in their love for fishing — a 
10 129 



130 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

restriction which boys do not enjoy. If there are 
more than twenty in the party, the fishermen are 
not likely to catch fish enough, even though the 
fishing be abundant, and so the party is deprived 
of what they usually count on as a part of camp life 
— namely, a diet consisting in part of fish. Given, 
a party of twenty, and you have fish enough for 
chowder and fries. Given, a party of forty or 
fifty, and a fish fry is never possible, and the 
chowders may degenerate into a Dutch stew. 

But when the man with the boys planned to go 
one summer to Sebec Lake, he deliberately decided 
to restrict his party to six persons of which he him- 
self should be one. Just how it came about he 
careth not to tell, but when the time came to start 
for Sebec on the 8th of August the party numbered 
seventeen. In this number were included one of 
the matrons at Good Will, two young ladies looking 
forward to their first camping experience, a girl nine 
years of age, and a woman who was w^fe of the 
man with the boys, as well as the mother of four of 
the above mentioned party. The remaining mem- 
bers may not be so easily dismissed. There was 
Blake, a high school boy of unusual strength. On 
this trip he was to be head cook. His muscular de- 
velopment is said to be due in part to his service in 
the Good Will bakery, where for two years he had 
put in some heavy work kneading bread; in part 
to his habit of boldly tackling any w^ork on the 
farm which presents itself in the way of chopping, 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 131 

digging, or lifting, without regard to amount of 
muscle called for; in part to his love for athletics. 
Blake had just completed a ten days contract for 
bread-making for the Good Will Assembly, in 
which he with his one assistant had made all the 
bread consumed at the Assembly dining hall. The 
bread was often praised by the guests at the Assem- 
bly table, even though they did not know it was 
made by two boys, aged sixteen and fourteen years, 
and that one night at least they worked in the 
bakery till two o'clock, in a grim determination to 
see the baking through according to agreement. 
Some fellows of their age would have failed up; 
but Blake knows no such word. He had earned an 
outing and now was to take it. His assistant — the 
fourten-year-old — was Dan McDonald, and he was 
also of the party to visit Sebec Lake. In muscular 
development and physical strength Dan was a close 
second to Blake, a lad of perfect health, and known 
for his faithfulness to duty. For their services as 
cooks on the trip, they were to receive all their ex- 
penses, and a small compensation besides. 

Then there was a Yale student who had just 
completed his Sophomore year at that University 
and had acted as a substitute in the Good Will 
office during the summer absence of the book-keeper 
This was his first trip into the Maine woods. 

There was Nutter, a genuine fisherman, who has 
been a member of nearly all the Good Will parties 
"that ever were." Stalwart of figure, a lover of 



132 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

woods and water, it must be a rare circumstance in- 
deed that would keep him from such a trip as this 
party was to take. He is a fisherman because he 
was born so; and has become so accustomed to 
"catching fish" and getting a lot of them, that 
the use of a rod and reel was at first a trial of 
patience. 

"Let me get hold of that line," he shouted ex- 
citedly, when he had been playing a good-sized 
bass for five minutes at Sebasticook one day, "let 
me get hold of that line and yank him in;" but 
the man in the boat quietly responded, "No; you 
are doing something more than yanking in fish now. 
You are taking your first lesson in the use of the rod. 
Give the fish a chance, and land him if you can." 
And when five minutes later the fish was in the 
bottom of the boat, Nutter sighed and exclaimed : 

"I wanted to yank him in — I was afriad he 
would get away." 

Then there were the two sons of the man with 
the boys — the older, who because of the generous 
framework for a good-sized man, on which he has 
succeeded in laying a blanket of firm flesh, is lov- 
ingly called "Jumbo;" and Ed Ben, the youngest 
boy in the party, twelve years of age. 

Ed McDonald — so fair of countenance that long 
ago he was familiarly known as "Rosy" — ^was not 
to be left out. Ed has been grocery boy for three 
successive years at Good Will. He was responsible 
for the delivery of groceries to the various cottages, 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 133 

and kept the record of all goods in his line deliv- 
ered to the different families. 

Sam was also one of the number. Sam has 
friends who will not let him forget some things. 
For instance, years ago he had a deal of difficulty 
with pronunciation. He himself relates, and his 
friends will not let him forget, that once in the 
Good Will school, when he was a small boy, as one 
of the other boys in the reading class got through 
with a paragraph in which occurred the words 
"fatigue" and "mucilage," Sam raised his hand. 

"What mistake did he make, Sammy?" said the 
teacher. 

"He mispronounced 'fat-i-goo,' " said Sam. 

The teacher smiled. It was more than a smile 
from the class which greeted Sam. Somewhat net- 
tled he exclaimed : 

"Well, I don't care; he didn't pronounce 'muck- 
i-lage' right, anyhow." 

Another one was Austin Robinson, the boy sta- 
tion agent at Good Will, who had visited Sebec 
Lake last spring with the man with the boys, in a 
preliminary trip to select a site for the camp of 1900. 

To these were added Harry Kimball, a former 
Good Will boy, who was going to Sebec Lake with 
the rest "because he wanted to," and E. J. Gardi- 
ner, a young man, who was among the first Good 
Will boys, and who had never missed a Good Will 
Camp. 

Under clear skies, in the forenoon of Aug. 9th, 



134 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the procession started. First there was a two- 
seated carriage carrying the ladies. Then came a 
three-seated wagon loaded with boys, hand-bags, 
and blankets; a two-seated wagon with a similar 
load of boys and dressing cases, and finally, a cart 
well loaded with tents and groceries. Canaan was 
reached soon after noon, and her stores yielded 
ginger snaps, cheese, crackers and bananas for the 
pilgrims. Sibley Pond was passed soon after one 
o'clock; and the Canaan hills disappeared, as the 
party moved forward to Hartland. At St. Albans 
a pond was passed. 

"What lake is that?" inquired one of the party. 

"That is Bear Pond," explained the man with 
the boys." 

"Its shores are not bare," remarked one of the 
boys, reflectively. 

"No," exclaimed another, "but I can't bear to 
pass it without stopping to fish." 

"Well, you'll have to," said Sam, consolingly, 
"but you can just bear it in mind." 

Then some of the party silently wondered whether 
a foreigner, learning the English language, would 
be able to get his bearings if he listened to such a 
conflab. The English language is always interesting. 

It was just dark when the pilgrims, having com- 
pleted their first day's journey, alighted from the 
vehicles, in Mr. Ham's dooryard, and exchanged 
greetings with the family. Such visitors were not 
unexpected, for Mr. and Mrs. Ham had been noti- 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 135 

fied that the party would appear to them about that 
time. The boys prepared supper in the yard; the 
ladies were invited into the house for the evening 
meal and for the night. But not a boy in the party 
was ready to accept such an invitation if it could 
have been extended. It was the original intention 
to pitch the tents in the Ham orchard for the night, 
but the plan was abandoned, and the boys decided 
to sleep in the barn. At an early hour they sought 
their resting-place. The majority repaired to the 
loft of the barn and spread blankets on straw four 
feet deep; two or three preferred to smooth out 
their blanket in the open field, and sleep "under 
the moon and stars," while Nutter and a companion 
made their bed on the bottom of the long hay rack, 
which stood on the barn floor. It was whispered 
that it would be a fine thing after Nutter and his 
companion were asleep, to quietly roll the hay rack 
out of the barn into the field. The suggestion was 
greeted with a suppressed giggle and expressions 
of approval, but the hay rack was not run out that 
night. Not till the return trip did Nutter get his 
midnight ride from the barn floor to the hay-field. 
Did the boys sleep? Some; but most of them 
knew when the first blush of dawn appeared, and 
when day broke. They knew when the cocks in 
the neighbors' yards answered crow to crow; and 
they heard the sound of the milk, striking the bot- 
tom of the empty tin pail, as the farm-hand began 
the milking of the first cow. 



136 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Breakfast was relished that morning, and at the 
early meal the boys had abundant proof of the 
kindheartedness of their hosts. But as soon as 
breakfast was over, the yard presented a business- 
like appearance. Horses were led to drink; boxes 
and packages were re-arranged in the wagons. The 
ladies' baggage was transferred from the house to 
the carriages, and when all was in readiness for the 
start, the man with the boys, standing on the 
veranda of the hospitable home, read a psalm of 
thanksgiving and offered a brief prayer. Then it 
was ''good-bye" and away. 

Two or three abandoned farms were passed — 
only two or three on the entire journey. But with 
so little to attract attention, some of the pilgrims 
resorted to wayside euchre as a means of shorten- 
ing the hours. In this game two sides are chosen, 
but the "sides" usually consist of the persons sit- 
ting on either side of the wagon. For instance, 
those sitting on the left side of the wagon consti- 
tute one side, those on the right the other side, 
and the driver acts as referee. A set of values at- 
taching to domestic stock and fowls is adopted. 
A horse counts 5 ; each cow, 5 ; but a white horse 
or cow counts 10. Sheep count 3 each; hens, one 
each; ducks, 2; turkeys, 3; crows, 10; hawks, 20; 
woodchucks, 10; pigs, dogs or cats, 5 each, etc. 

Some one must keep "the count " with pencil and 
paper. It is usually decided before the game be- 
gins, at what point it shall commence and where it 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 137 

shall end. Then those on the left side scan the 
fields and dooryards for such stock and poultry as 
has a fixed value on the schedule. All such ani- 
mals, fowls or birds left of the road belong to the 
party on the left side of the wagon. The other side 
scans the fields on the right side in the same way. 
Simple as is the game, it nevertheless affords much 
amusement; sometimes leads to exciting episodes, 
and makes a ride interesting, which might otherwise 
prove tedious. The game also results in a knowl- 
edge of the character and quality of farming, 
which one would not otherwise obtain. Anyone 
who took part in the game on the trip could tell at 
the end of the journey the relative worth of sheep, 
neat cattle, horses and poultry through the country 
traversed. They could have also told of the ab- 
sence of geese, the rarity of turkeys, and the un- 
expected scarcity of dogs in Piscataquis Co. No 
quarrel resulted from the game, though there were 
"some words" when Sam claimed that "owl" was 
three-fourths of a "fowl," and should be estimated 
accordingly ; and also when he insisted upon having 
five added to the score of his side, when no horse 
was in sight, because it was a "one horse town" 
they were passing through. At Lower Abbott a 
telephone message was sent to the Lake House 
which filled Landlord Packard with consternation. 
"We want a late dinner and lodging for eighteen. 
Will come about 2 o'clock." The Lake House was 
filled with guests; there was not room for more, 



138 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

But it rained so hard that the pitching of tents was 
impracticable, and something must be done. Ar- 
rangements were therefore made by which the ladies 
could have rooms in the house, and the boys could 
sleep in the bowling alley. 

The next morning the party was again fortunate 
— weather was fine for the start to camp. At 6 
A. M. the steamer, "Favorite," moved away from 
the wharf loaded with our baggage and a party 
of sixteen. Hermann and Rhodes had made an 
early start back to Good Will with the teams. 
It was well that some of us went to Birch Moun- 
tain the day before to select the camping site; 
for when the steamer stopped, the Captain said: 
"Here you are; this is Birch Mountain." "But 
this is not the spot we selected," said the man. 
"The spring is right there," said the Captain. 
"This is Birch Mountain. That to the right is 
Pine Mountain. That to the left is Granny Cross 
Mountain." The man with the boys insisted on be- 
ing left at the site previously selected, which proved 
to be at the foot of Granny Cross Mountain. One 
of the ladies of the party said that the situation was 
"fine;" others described it as "grand," "beauti- 
ful," "lovely," and "exquisite." The boys had to 
introduce a new supply of adjectives. Nutter said 
it was "neat;" Kimball characterized it as "slick;" 
McDonald said 'twas a "dandy;" Jumbo called it a 
"peach," and Blake declared he "wouldn't camp 
anywhere else if he had to." 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 139 

That afternoon five tents were put up — one for 
the ladies, three for boys, and the fifth a shelter 
for provisions. In all their camping experiences 
the boys had never pitched their tents so close to 
the water's edge. We had no tables or cooking 
conveniences, but Blake and Dan had dinner in 
good season, served in primitive fashion. 

A few rods in the rear of the site of the tents be- 
gins the ascent of Granny Cross Mountain. High 
boulders and blocks of granite are thrown together 
in startling fashion, telling the story of frightful 
convulsions in ages past. The climb up the moun- 
tain is difficult — in places, impossible. The top is 
covered with huckleberry and blueberry bushes, at 
this time loaded with fruit, which added much to 
the table supply, as well as affording the boys 
many an impromptu repast. But the mountain was 
itself a constant joy. Its rugged sides, the short, 
but almost perilous ascent, the view from its sum- 
mit of lake, mountain and forest, was worth a far 
more difficult journey. 

By the way, the rocks about Sebec Lake are a 
feature in themselves. The late Dr. Bunker of 
Cambridge was a lover of "Sebec" and its rocky 
shores. In his last will and testament he left in- 
structions that for his monument, a rock weighing 
not less than a ton should be transferred from the 
shores of Sebec Lake to his grave, and on one side, 
his name and the proper date should be placed. I 
sympathize with Dr. Bunker and also with the 



140 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

author of our national hymn, in the sentiment "/ 
love thy rocks.'' I have no use for a sand hill, or 
an arid plain. It is true that Dr. Smith in the same 
immortal production said 'Hhy woods and templed 
hills'' but the hills he wrote of, and the hills we sing 
of, are either fertile, or rugged and rock-ribbed. 
Sand hills are never "templed." A temple on a 
sand hill cannot stand. Of a house it was said in 
sacred parable: " It was founded on a rock." 

On Monday morning, Aug. 13th, a letter was 
mailed to New York, by the man with the boys, 
which read as follows: 

Aug. 12, 1900. 
My dear Brother: 

This morning I assembled my family of fifteen persons 
around our breakfast — not breakfast table, for we have none; 
not in my home, for here in the wilderness we are homeless 
save for our canvas tents — and after reading a psalm, I offered 
prayer. Twice since then today, we have gathered on the 
bank of the lake, close to the water's edge, for meals. Aside 
from this it has been a day of quiet — of absolute rest. The 
morning I spent on top of Granny Cross Mountain; the after- 
noon, in the thick woods between mountain and lake. It has 
been a Sabbath unlike any other. I have enjoyed it — ^just 
one, but I would not like many such in a life time. I'd rather 
preach or make opportunities for others to preach than to 
spend my Sunday thus. But I've been close to Nature — to 
Nature in her rugged, as well as most beautiful forms. To 
me it is all delight, yet I'm sure if left to myself with Nature 
I could never have found Him. "From Nature to Nature's 
God" is not in me. For me, the Divine revelation in the 
written word was necessary. I am grateful beyond measure for 
the Divine record: "In the beginning God created" and all 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 141 

that follows. I am glad for all the evidences of His power I 
see today, on every side, but am also rejoicing that "It is 
written" in the inspired page as well, that God is Infinite 
Love, as He is also Infinite Power. I have been in reminis- 
cent mood today. Twenty years ago today I pledged, at the 
matrimonial altar, my love to the fairest of brides; I look 
back on twenty years of happy married life; I have with me 
in the Maine woods today the bride of twenty years ago, and 
our four children — all strong and well, all in love with their 
temporary surroundings. Tomorrow I go still deeper into the 
forest, to lakes to which we must take our boat by successive 
carries. Only four of us will undertake the trip. I'll tell you 
about it later. Yours sincerely, 

No doubt the writer of the letter was sincere and 
really intended to "go still deeper" into the forests, 
and he did, but not in the manner intended. Sebec 
Lake is thirteen miles long, and alone affords many 
trips and abundant recreating. But there are other 
lakes and ponds within reach. To the northeast, 
a mile and a half from Buck's Cove, is Buttermilk 
Pond. This is two miles long, and a mile wide. 
From it a beautiful view can be had of Boarstone 
Mountain, and the lake is reputed to have in its 
depths both togue and salmon. Seven minutes' 
walk from Long Pond is Crooked Pond; thirty 
minutes' walk from Crooked Pond takes one to 
Third Pond, and a short distance beyond this is 
Burden Pond. It was the purpose of the man with 
the boys to take three of their number Monday and 
start for a tour of these ponds. But the trip of a 
mile and a half through the forests, with a boat, is 



142 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

not a matter to be undertaken without counting the 
cost. There were no canoes in use by us, but we 
had Hght canvas boats. It was our plan to carry 
the boat to Buttermilk Pond, thence to Crooked 
Pond, to Third Pond, and then leisurely return; 
trying the trout in Third, and stopping over night 
to fish for togue in Buttermilk, The man with the 
boys counselled a trip on the longest carry without 
the boat, in order to decide whether it was a trip 
worth the taking. This was a fortunate decision, 
for had we gone Monday, as first planned, we 
would have been in the woods Monday night with 
no shelter but the canvas boat — which would have 
been slender for four — during a pouring rain, which 
set in quite unexpectedly about nine o'clock in the 
evening. So the preliminary trip was made Monday 
by Nutter, Kimball and the men. The trip was 
decided as not only feasible but desirable. There 
the matter rested for a night and a day. The entry 
in a journal for that day was this: 

"Fine day; poor fishing; Captain Crockett called 
at camp with Steamer ' Golden Rod ' and took the 
boys for a sail. Jolly time. All the boys who hap- 
pened to be in camp went, including the two cooks 
and the cookee. This made dinner very late. A 
big tree near fireplace was pushed over; fell into 
lake. Later the Yale student was on the end of it, 
chopping. He wore white pantaloons ; lost balance 
— student, pants, axe, all go into water. Student's 
person and his ardor both dampened. No perma- 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 143 

nent injury. Man and two boys make trip to But- 
termilk Pond; another party visited Willimantic. 
Ed Ben caught black bass from shore." 

This last statement appears commonplace enough, 
and it is, but this particular bass was caught under 
these circumstances: 

Ed Ben was fishing from the rocky shore — fish- 
ing for anything that might come his way. He 
finally had a "good bite," and soon learned that a 
fair-sized bass was on his hook. But before he 
could land him, the wary fish darted under a rock 
for refuge. At the same time Capt. Crockett ar- 
rived on the " Golden Rod " and invited the boys to 
take a trip eight miles down the lake. Ed wanted 
to go. With some of us it would have been a ques- 
tion of fish or excursion, but Ed planned for both, 
on the general principle, that when you go into the 
woods you had better take all that comes your way. 
So he clipped his line, and fastened it to a rock on 
the shore, and thus leaving the bass well hooked in 
readiness for his return, he embarked aboard the 
"Golden Rod" with the rest. On his return, three 
hours later, he went back to his half completed 
task and landed his fish successfully. 

Near Sebec Lake small ponds, which in some 
places would be called beautiful, are regarded with 
indifi'erence. Sebec outshines them, just as a mag- 
nificent cathedral belittles chapel and meeting-house, 
which otherwise would stand forth in beautiful pro- 
portion. At Granny Cross Cove starts a path 



144 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

which leads to Bear Pond — a diamond in an emerald 
setting. Bear Pond is nearly circular, a third of a 
mile in diameter, and cherishes one little island on 
its bosom. On the island are half a dozen small 
trees. When the man with the boys said to Land- 
lord Packard, "Is there anything in Bear Pond?" 
he replied, "There are some bass there," but he 
said this with a slighting air, which we did not 
understand. The next day Nutter, Kimball and 
Gardiner shouldered a boat, and made the carry 
to Bear Pond, returning with about a dozen bass. 
The size of these fish threw a flood of light on the 
Landlord's manner. They were small and dark- 
colored. This party returned at dinner time bring- 
ing their boat with them, but after dinner another 
party, led by the man with the boys, went over with 
a boat and spent the afternoon. More light on 
the Landlord's manner! The whole party caught 
only three fish — insignificant creatures which, so 
far as we knew, may have been all that Nutter, 
Kimball and Gardiner left. One black bass, and 
two white perch ! But a lake dropped in the forest, 
surrounded with dense foliage of birch and popple, 
with here and there a dark evergreen, is an object of 
beauty, whether it has fish within its depths or not. 
The visit to Bear Pond threw light on something 
else, for the man with the boys. He had been to 
Buttermilk Pond the day before to see if a trip, the 
plan of which he had for some time cherished, was 
feasible. He also followed the boys on their way 




Along the River Road above Bixgham 




On Little Bear Pond 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 145 

to Bear Pond, when they walked freely along un- 
der the boat as though they went for pleasure. 
He said the carry was a great success: it was fine; 
could be done any day, etc. The whole thing was 
done so easily that, when at Bear Pond he wanted 
to stay a little longer, he proposed that two boys 
should stay with him and fish, taking the boat back 
later. Sam and Ed McDonald stayed. The two 
young ladies returned to camp, as did also the rest 
of the boys. It occurred to the man that the 
mother of four of the campers might like to see 
this pond in the heart of the forest, and McDonald 
went back to the camp to escort her over. After 
she had made a tour of the pond the return to camp 
with the boats began. To the man with the boys, 
the boat looked like a very clumsy, unwieldy affair. 
It had not seemed so when it moved along so stead- 
ily, perched on the heads of the four strong fel- 
lows who transferred it across the carry. But it 
did look awkward enough now — and heavy. Mc- 
Donald and Sam looked sober. There was an air 
about them which said they were sorry they were 
there. They cast their eye along the length of the 
boat. How light, and short, and graceful she had 
appeared when gliding on the waters of Sebec, or 
even of Bear Pond; how ungainly and undesirable 
she appeared on land, waiting to be toted through 
the woods. 

"Which end will you take?" said the man with 
the boys, solemnly. 



146 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"It don't make a diff of bitterence to me," said 
Sam, smiling. 

"Let me take the head end," said McDonald, 
cheerfully, "that's the heaviest." 

"No," said the man, "I'll take that end myself." 

The mother took the fishrods, the man's cap, 
which was decorated with a supply of fishhooks 
and various kinds of artificial bait, and the camera, 
and went ahead. The three in some way inverted 
the boat and got under it, and after straightening 
up were ready for the trip. The man had the lead; 
McDonald had the opposite end, while Sam was 
midway between stem and stern. But though the 
man had the lead he did not have control. Some- 
times the boat would shoot ahead, sometimes slow 
up — the velocity depending on the other two quite 
as much as upon himself. But he had one advan- 
tage. Though his head was up in the boat, he 
could see the rocks, when he was within three or 
four feet of them, in time to avoid a stumble him- 
self, and also to caution his fellow laborers. 
"Rocks," "big log," "corduroy," "bad place," 
"very bad place," "smooth path," "mud hole," 
"the worst yet," and other information was fur- 
nished by him unsparingly. 

"I can't — lift — much in here," grunted Sam, 
under the boat, "you've got all the heft of it your- 
self." 

"Come on," said the man, "I'm all right." 

"Hi!" exclaims McDonald, as the boat lurches' 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 147 

and nearly upsets its carriers; "struck my foot — 
'gainst a stone — did'nt see it — in time." But not- 
withstanding all these difficulties progress was 
rapid. The entire distance to be made was less 
than half a mile. 

"Shall we stop and rest?" asked the man in the 
lead. 

"No, siree," puffs the rear boy; "the other fel- 
lows didn't rest but twice; we won't rest but once. 
See?" 

"Yes," the man could see, and approved of the 
vision. When the halt came, Sam insisted that he 
had not been able to do his part, being in the mid- 
dle of the procession, and not able to lift much. 
He would gladly exchange with the leader. This 
the man consented to do, and could have wept over 
the decision ten minutes later. Taking his place 
under the middle of the inverted craft, he placed 
his shoulders and back against the burden. The 
procession started. Sam steps up onto a rock in 
the way; the man straightens up instantly, to be 
sure and carry his part. Sam stoops down on his 
onward march, the boat descends, with him, on 
the luckless middle man. For an instant the bur- 
den is overpowering; but Ed, the rear man, steps 
onto the same rock. The boat rises; the middle 
man straightens, down comes the boat — fearful 
thump on the man's head — but onward moves the 
triumphal procession. 

The man in the middle is at the mercy of the 



148 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Other two. He does not know when the boat is to 
rise, or when it is to lower; when it is to lurch to 
the right, or sway to the left; he is simply under 
the boat to have his shoulders burdened and un- 
burdened, his head thumped, his back bent double 
— a. series of unpremeditated punishments inflicted 
by the young fellows who are really carrying the 
boat. He doesn't know anything. He simply 
wonders. He wonders why the other fellows go so 
fast — why they don't go faster — why the boat 
comes down on his shoulders so heavy at times — 
why at others the boat doesn't touch him — why he 
ever took the middle position anyway — what the 
bill for damages to the boat will be in case his head 
goes through it — whether there will be an end of 
the carry. He hears the voice of the mother of his 
children shouting in sweet, warning voice: "There's 
a big log across the path here, but he doesn't care; 
a log's as good as anything. It only means that 
Sam will step up on it, and then step down; that 
the boat will rise and fall with him, and that he — 
the middle man — will get full benefit at no extra 
cost; that before he recovers himself, Ed, at the 
rear, will rise and fall in the same way. 

But there's an end to even the longest carry. 
There is light in the woods. Sebec Lake is just 
ahead. At last the boat is turned over and lowered 
to the ground. The man wipes beads of sweat 
from his brow; he is dizzy. Sam and McDonald 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 149 

seem for a moment to be staggering, but it is his 
vision that is at fault. 

He rights himself and takes inventory of personal 
results. He has a spinal column — he is sure of 
that — and it seems to have been wrenched. Then 
he seems to have two spinal columns, yes, three of 
them, and all seem to be broken in two places at 
least. 

It is only half a mile from Sebec Lake to Bear 
Pond ; but the man had endured much on the home- 
ward journey under the boat. 

"Boys," he said at the supper table that night, 
"It isn't more than nine miles from Bear Pond to 
Sebec Lake. Anyone who says it is ten miles across 
there, either deliberately exaggerates, or has been 
across under a boat, as the middle man. It's only 
nine miles — put it down as nine, anyway. I have 
been the whole length of it." 



"Oh, oh, do you see it?" It was the middle of 
the forenoon; the voice of a young woman rang 
through the woods, from a boat just off shore. 
There was a tremor of delight in the voice. Yes, 
we could all see it — a patch of blue sky overhead, 
and a bright spot on the mountain across the lake, 
where the sun's rays were flooding a small area with 
brightness. We had been looking for sunshine for 
two days, and for two days it had rained. The 
poor weather was disarranging our plans, and 



150 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

there was a feeling that the ladies in the party 
might get despondent over the continued dampness. 
And now the sunshine was surely coming. Several 
days of bright weather followed this clearing off. 
The morning after the sunshine, the trip to the 
Buttermilk Ponds, which had been twice postponed 
on account of the weather, was undertaken. Two 
young ladies and several boys were to accom- 
pany the party across the carry, for the sake of a 
look at Buttermilk, and the walk through the woods. 
The boys aided in carrying the boat, while the 
ladies carried oars, camera, caps and other light 
articles. The man insisted that the trip should be 
an old fashioned one — such as were indulged in be- 
fore the advent of canned goods, and that the sup- 
plies should consist of corn meal, salt pork, with 
dependence upon fish for further food. There 
were to be five pounds pork, ten pounds meal, and 
salt sufficient. Just why the boy should have 
thought three quarts of salt necessary, the writer 
cannot tell; but the supplies were as above stated, 
with the salt added. At the last moment the man 
slipped into the tin pail a few crackers, eight boiled 
eggs, and a box of baked beans. It was well he 
did. 

After crossing the carry, between Sebec Lake 
and Buttermilk Pond, getting the boat into the lake 
and saying goodbye, the advanced party proceeded 
across Buttermilk Pond fishing. No fish. Having 
reached the opposite shore. Nutter and the man 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 151 

followed Mud Benson Brook for some distance, 
catching trout for dinner. This is a rare brook. 
It is of itself an education in the love of natural 
scenery. It is such a brook as one must follow 
before he can resort to one of the established meth- 
ods of getting to sleep, when tired or nervous, viz., 
by closing the eyes, and revisiting in imagination 
the shady nooks, the mossy stones, the little cas- 
cades and the cool shadows of a trout brook. The 
stones and boulders of Mud Benson Brook are cov- 
ered with the greenest moss. One can walk the 
entire distance between Buttermilk Pond and Mud 
Benson Pond barefooted, stepping from rock to 
rock, from boulder to boulder, with the same amount 
of wear and tear one would experience in walking 
on a velvet croquet lawn — so complete is the cover- 
ing of green, cool moss. We know, because we did 
it; and made the journey back again in the same 
way. If one can have such a brook to follow, it 
matters not so very much whether one catches trout, 
provided he has a love for the beautiful — for the 
most beautiful in nature. But they caught a few 
trout for dinner, and a part of the salt pork and corn 
meal was properly cooked to accompany the fried 
trout. 

The man with the boys maintains that one ought 
to know his journey before he attempts to take a 
boat over it; so a trip was made empty-handed 
over the carry from Buttermilk Pond to Crooked 
Pond — a prospecting trip. The way was much of 



152 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

it up hill, but it could be done, and the fellows de- 
cided to do it. As they returned to Buttermilk for 
the boat and its belongings, Kimball reached the 
shore first, and with an ejaculation of surprise ex- 
claimed: "Say, what was that?" 

"What was what?" said the man with the boys. 

"Why, just as I came down here, something 
gave a yell and jumped into the water. I don't 
know who it was, or what it was. What do you 
'spose?" 

The rest of the party were not much given to 
speculation, and the matter for the time was 
dropped, but later a discovery was made which ex- 
plained that noise and the jump into the water. It 
is an interesting fact that the frogs in Buttermilk 
Pond give a shrill cry, something like a short toot 
from a tiny tin trumpet, when so startled that they 
jump into the water. This was noticed repeatedly, 
but it was also noticed that the frogs on Crooked 
Pond and Third Pond have no such habit. No one 
in the party had ever known frogs to act so before, 
and they have been familiar with such creatures 
from early life. 

The oars, blankets and food — the latter some- 
what reduced by the noonday meal — were left in 
the boat for the carry, adding somewhat to the 
weight. But the load was lifted and the carry 
commenced. Up the hill, under the trees, over the 
stones and fallen logs, went the little party, con- 
veying the boat in a different manner from either 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE I53 

the Little Bear Pond or the Buttermilk Pond carry, 
until the man said, "Let's rest. There," he con- 
tinued, " I estimate that we have already come one 
fifth of the way. Four more efforts like this — the 
other four-fifths — will take us to Crooked Pond — 
easy, isn't it?" 

The second fifth was taken; then the third and 
the fourth, with a short respite between them. 

" Now for the last pull," said the man. 

"I don't know about it," said Nutter. "It will 
have to be longer than the last ones, I'm afraid." 

Then the load was lifted. Nutter was right. 
There was something wrong about the man's arith- 
metic, for, whatever may be taught in the public 
schools, and whatever the testimony of Daboll or 
Greenleaf, five fifths don't make the carry between 
Buttermilk and Crooked Ponds. It took two more 
carries of the average length to reach the shore — a 
new state of things — since the man had to acknowl- 
edge seven fifths in the whole. But let it be said 
here that owing to an improved method of carrying 
the boat, the return trip was made with only one 
rest, a stop long enough to take a picture of a cas- 
cade on the outlet to Crooked Pond at a point 
where carry and brook run parallel. Men said 
there were no trout in the brook at that season of 
the year; but the boys wanted to prove it, and did, 
by drowning two or three angle worms. 

Crooked Pond is appropriately named, for the 
boatman must turn again and again, after leaving 



154 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the outlet, before he reaches the north end, or in- 
let. It is declared emphatically that there are no 
fish in Crooked Pond, though why a series of three 
ponds, the first and third of which have salmon and 
togue, or trout, should present a pond in which 
there are no fish to be caught, though both inlet 
and outlet abound in fish at certain seasons of the 
year, is hard to explain. It was noticed, however, 
that the shallow water of the pond abounds in 
small fish, from an inch to two inches long, and this 
raises the question whether there are not larger 
fish there too well fed on small fry to take the fish- 
erman's bait. On the east side of Crooked Pond is 
the camp of game wardens Mayo and Guerney. 
The party had been told of this place, which is left 
open to any and all comers, with the request that 
the visitor leave the dishes washed, and that he 
cut as much wood as he uses. It was going to rob 
the trip of half its poetry to stop in a camp, but all 
felt justified in doing it, especially as the dinner 
had made a hole in our supplies, and we had not 
caught many fish. The cabin would furnish good 
facilities for cooking the flapjacks and frying the 
pork, though we had done fairly well at noon, 
using one of the four tin plates for a frying pan. 
On our way up the pond to find the Third Pond, 
the shore at the camp was clear. We had only to 
return from the head of the lake, and enter our 
quarters for the night. But on our return a canoe 
was moored in front of the camp. The quarters 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 155 

were taken. If on the principle of first come, first 
served, then we were too late. But all were thirsty 
and decided to go to the spring and incidentally 
to visit the cabin. The waters of the spring were 
like ice in coolness, and they drank again and 
again. Two men were cooking supper in front of 
the log camp. The boys had a few pleasant words 
of greeting and remained four or five minutes. The 
men were profane and obscene. The boys turned 
away from such dirtiness in disgust. The man with 
the boys led the way to the boat landing, and said 
to the boys, quietly, "Now, boys, what shall 
we do?" 

"I wouldn't stay there with them if they'd give 
me the cabin," said one. "They talk like fools." 

"I'd sleep in a mud hole," said another, indig- 
nantly, "before I'd stay and listen to that all night; 
and did you smell the liquor? Let's sleep out as 
we planned to do at first." 

The man was more than pleased at this attitude 
of the boys, and the party went back to the north 
end of the pond. Pushing the boat up the brook 
as far as they could they came to the beginning of 
the carry. The sun was low in the west. Leav- 
ing the boat they took blankets and food and 
everything but the boat, and started for Third Pond 
which they reached just after sunset. 

The woods were dark, but as the party came out 
to the shore of Third Pond, the light of the dying 
day was reflected in a wonderful manner on the 



156 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

quiet waters. But the boys could not linger. 
They were in the forests of Maine. Darkness was 
but half an hour away, and a sleeping place had 
not been selected. Retracing their steps into the 
thick of the woods, they selected on high land a 
place for the night. The camp fire was lighted. 
That little package of beans was produced, and 
with it the last four boiled eggs. The theory is 
correct, namely, that one needs few provisions in 
the woods, with fish, and the fewer he takes, the 
less weight to lug, but the fish did not materialize, 
and there was the rub. There were just enough 
beans for supper. This left meal and pork for 
breakfast. There were bared heads, a word of 
prayer; then more wood on the camp fire, the 
spreading of blankets, and the stretching of weary 
forms upon them for the night, with nothing be- 
tween the pilgrims and the starry heavens. It was 
"a night out." 

There are two interesting things at Third Pond, 
viz., Gull Rock and a herony. Surprise is some- 
times expressed by people who see large gulls in- 
land, for there is a general impression that these 
birds belong to the salt seas only ; but here on this 
little lake, a hundred and fifty miles inland, the 
gulls rear their young annually, and their calls are 
heard through the summer. The blue heron selects 
the inaccessible tops of the tall, almost branchless 
trees for the nest, and nothing but firearms can 
reach her. Judging from the sounds in the night, 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 157 

Third Pond may also boast a "loonery" of no 
small proportions; for the cry of the loon scarcely 
ceased through the night — that is, when the boys 
were awake. 

It was not sunrise, it was only early dawn, when 
Kimball started the fire and went to the pond for 
frogs' legs. When the rest arose, he had fried the 
flapjacks and pork — breakfast was ready. And it 
was good. 

After breakfast the party was sitting at the end 
of the carry, on the south shore. "Well," said the 
man, "you fellows seem to be in a pensive mood 
this morning." 

"I'm not sure that I know just what you mean 
by pensive," replied Jumbo, "but if to be pensive 
is to have a kind of stiffness in the joints, I'm pen- 
sive." To this sentiment the rest agreed. It was 
decided that no attempt to get the boat to Third 
Pond should be made as it was Saturday, and 
the return to Sebec Lake camp must be accom- 
plished before dark. But the boys lingered on the 
shore of Third Pond, sitting on the stones, and 
looking off across the mountains, and watching 
loon and gull until the man remarked : 

"Well, you don't any of you act as though you 
were aching to carry that boat through the woods." 

"I'm aching somewhat," replied one of the boys 
cheerfully, "but the boat isn't in it." 

The visit to Third Pond ended, and the return 
journey was begun. At noon the boys were back 



158 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

at the inlet to Buttermilk Pond, having followed 
Mud Benson Brook again, and having caught no 
trout. "Do you remember, fellows, that I sent 
word to camp, yesterday, that we'd like to have 
some of the boys meet us on that side of the lake 
this noon, and help us get the boat back? " 

"Yes," they all remembered. "And do you re- 
member," said one, "that you told Gardiner that 
you wanted him to tell the fellows who came over 
to bring some food, as we might not catch any 
fish?" 

"Upon my word I do," said the man with the 
boys, "and Vd forgotten it entirely. Well, let's go 
over to the carry and be there when they come. 
In case they don't come, we can fry some pork,, 
cook some meal, have a feast of such things, pork 
and chicken feed, and rest till the cool of the day." 
Jumbo rowed the party across the lake. The land- 
ing was made and the fire kindled. "Now," said 
the man, "bring the meal and the pork; get some 
water in that tin pail, and we'll have dinner. It's 
our last meal on the trip." Nutter went to the 
boat for the things. "Say," he exclaimed, after a 
moment's silence, standing in the boat, "Where's 
— say, what did we do with the — why, with that 
pork, you know? It isn't here." 

"What!" said the man, sharply. 

"No sir, it isn't here, that's a fact," replied 
Nutter, solemnly. "Must be on the other side of 
this pond," ventured Kimball. " Or up on Crooked 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 159 

Pond," ventured Jumbo. "Or up where we ate 
breakfast this morning, over on Third," added 
Kimball. 

"But where is it?" said the man, desperately. 

"I don't know," said Kimball, "I'm all twiz up 
again." ("Twiz up" is an expression introduced 
at Good Will by John Snagg, of New Jersey, four 
years ago. It means "perplexed, mixed up, both- 
ered," and is used by Good Will boys when there 
is a very perplexing situation.) It was not going to 
take long to get dinner under those circumstances. 
The other supplies in hand consisted of about four 
pounds of corn meal, and three quarts of salt. 
There was a tin pail, a supply of lake water and a 
fire. One of the boys called attention to an inci- 
dent in Jewish history when among other things 
"Salt, without prescribing how much," was insisted 
upon, an incident which was used by Rev. Dr. 
Vail, for the basis of the annual sermon at the 
Good Will Assembly and Boys' Encampment in 
1899 — a text and sermon which is often referred to 
by the boys. In twenty minutes the corn meal had 
been boiled, and the feast of corn mush and a 
practically unlimited supply of salt was before 
them. Kimball said it "seemed to satisfy hunger." 
Nutter said he had never eaten anything just like 
it, or at least had never had just such a meal. It 
had been planned to wait for help in getting the 
boat back; but half way across the carry were 
some raspberry bushes, on which still hung some 



l6o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

berries. It was unanimously decided to shoulder 
the boat and get there at the earliest moment. A 
speedy start was made, and five minutes later, 
Eccles, Blake and Dan McDonald met the weary 
pilgrims in the way. 

That night, after camp had been reached and a 
hearty supper eaten ; after a trip had been made to 
the blueberry bushes on Granny Cross Mountain; 
after a swim in the limpid water of Sebec Lake, 
the question which had been asked of the four was 
asked again: 

"Say, did you really have a good time?" 

"Good tim.e!" exclaimed Kimball, "yes, siree, I 
wouldn't have missed it for ten dollars;" and then 
added reflectively, "and I wouldn't do it again for 
another ten." And to this sentiment, born of a 
two days* experience, the rest of the party assented. 
But it really was a good time. 

The visitor to Sebec Lake has opportunities for 
several side trips, if he does not find sufficient 
enjoyment on the lake and its shores. It was 
understood by the boys, before they left home, 
that they would climb Boarstone Mt. before they 
returned. So on a Tuesday morning they made 
a fairly early start, going from camp, a distance 
of two miles, to the Lake House in boats. Nutter 
and Gardiner remained to keep camp; all the 
rest of the party went on the journey. At the 
Lake House a buckboard, in charge of an experi- 
enced driver, was ready for ten of the party; the 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE l6l 

Other five followed in a wagon. It is five miles 
from the Lake House to Onawa Lake, where the 
teams were to be left. Perhaps a rougher road 
exists in Maine, but none of the party had ever 
seen anything like it. At Cow Yard Falls a photo 
was taken; also a picture was taken of another 
pretty cascade, name unknown, a few rods from 
the latter place; both of these are on Ship 
Pond Stream. The five occupants of the wagon 
produced a new song of stirring character, though 
limited as to sentiment. It went to the tune of 
"Tramp, tramp, tramp," and the chorus was as 
follows : 

*'0n, on, on to Onawa, 

On, on, on to Onawa, 

On to, on to Onawa, on to, on to Onawa, 

On to, on to, on to, on to Onawa." 

Just before one reaches Onawa Lake, he comes 
to the trestle work of the C. P. R. R., a remarkable 
steel structure over 900 feet long, and at one point 
165 feet high. Most of the party walked the length 
of the trestle, two or three not wishing to run 
the risk of dizziness. The others crossed the 
stream at the dam and went to the Onawa House 
by a woodsy path, made for the accommodation 
of tourists. Lunch was taken on the shore of 
Onawa Lake, at eleven o'clock, in order to get a 
good start for the mountain climb. People at the 
hotel were very reticent when questions were asked 
about the best route to take to get to the top of 



1 62 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Boarstone. One man was on the giving hand, and 
would doubtless have furnished valuable informa- 
tion, but he was promptly told to "go and clean 
that fish," and the man remaining in authority had 
nothing to say. Of course all this difficulty could 
have been removed by hiring a guide, but the party 
simply did not want a guide, and would not have 
one. Failing to get instructions the travellers 
started along the C. P. R. R. to the west. Some 
one had said the best place to start up was 
at Greenwood, but whether Greenwood was a sta- 
tion, a pond, a dead tree, or a curve in the road, no 
one in the party knew. They were to pass two 
ponds — this they did. They passed a third one. 
Three boys had gone far in advance of the rest of 
the party, and went beyond the place where a slight 
depression seemed to indicate a path. "We've 
found the path," they shouted to the fellows who 
were in advance, and who having thus been sig- 
nalled, came back to join the rest. It was easy for 
a time to follow the slight trail, but it became less 
and less distinct. The three boys who had been 
called back, having gone beyond the place to start 
in from the railroad, again pushed their way beyond 
the main party. All traces of the path or trail 
had now disappeared; or they had wandered from 
it. Progress became exceedingly difficult. Fallen 
logs, accumulated brushwood and rolling stones 
made the journey hazardous. A look backward 
revealed a scene of great beauty, but before the 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 163 

climbers was only the rocky side of the mountain 
half hidden with foliage. They came to a place 
where further progress seemed about impossible. 
"We simply can't go any farther," said the man 
to his daughter. "Oh, this is real easy," was her 
reply; and the boys and the two young ladies 
slowly moved upward. At last they came to an 
opening, where, looking upward, they could see 
a summit, apparently unapproachable from where 
they were, and on it appeared the three who had 
gone in advance. 

"How did you get there?" was shouted to them. 

The reply was: "Oh, you can't come. It would 
take you two weeks to get here." 

That settled it. "I'll get there or I'll break my 
neck in trying," said one of the boys; and while 
the young ladies said nothing so desperate, the 
silent persistency with which they crept up the 
rocky steep showed that they would never stop 
till they had reached the summit. 

"He can, who thinks he can" — a reference to 
Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth's address at the Good 
Will Assembly, was occasionally shouted by way 
of encouragement; and once or twice the pronoun 
was changed for the benefit of the ladies. At last 
the lower of the two peaks was reached. 

The pilgrims remained for a time on the summit 
of the mountain, studying the beautiful scene of 
forest and lake and river stretched beneath them, 
and watching the forest fire which was in progress 



1 64 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

just below the summit, on the south side. All 
were suffering from thirst; but all felt repaid for 
the journey. It had been apparent to the man 
that they could never descend over the way they 
had made the ascent, for two reasons: it was so 
precipitous that it would be dangerous, and they 
could never have found the way back, as they had 
blazed no trees, or made any provision for the re- 
turn. The man had felt confident that in some 
way, on the summit, they could get a clue to a safe 
return. A party was picking blueberries near the 
top that day, and from one of the men it was learned 
that a blazed path started from near where they 
were. It was decided to adopt that path. There 
was a great eagerness to do this, because the man 
said there was a spring near it on the way down. 
This trail proved to be a well trodden path, which 
it was a pleasure to follow, but which, had it been 
used in the ascent would have robbed the trip of 
much of its interest and excitement. On the way 
down a party of men were met, with spades, on 
their way up to fight the fire at the top. They 
told of a spring further down — "Close to the path 
— you'll see it. " But they did not see it. Another 
party of men, on their way up, gave more definite 
instructions, both as to the spring, and the best 
way to get down. But they did not find the spring ; 
the trees they had blazed were not found. Half 
way down the mountain they came to the trail 
which they had followed on the first part of the 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 1 65 

ascent; the rest was simplicity itself, and the hotel 
was soon reached. 

There was no real accident, the most serious 
happening being Ed Ben's getting stung with 
another hornet, making his third experience of that 
kind since he had reached Sebec, or as Ed Ben 
said: 

"I've added one more sting to my collection." 

The night after the trip to the summit of Boar- 
stone was one of general restlessness. This may 
have been due to the weariness of some of the 
party, since it is possible to be too tired to sleep 
soundly. One of the young ladies was heard to 
enquire occasionally in her sleep, " But are you sure 
we are on the right path?" and after a few minutes 
silence she would repeat the question plaintively, 
' 'Are you sure this will get us to the top?" 

But the best illustration of restlessness occurred 
in the boys' quarters and caused considerable 
comment. The Yale student and Ed Gardiner 
were fond of having camp fires all to themselves 
after everybody else had retired for the night, and 
sometim.es these fires and their conversation 
extended into the wee small hours. It was so on 
the night in question. Everybody went to bed 
that night soon after dark except the two men- 
tioned. The Yale student found it hard to reverse 
the order to which he had become accustomed at 
the University, and return to "early to bed and 
early to rise." Gardiner had been so long in 



1 66 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

hospital service that day and night are much alike 
to him. His experiences caring for the sick have 
only strengthened the quality which originally 
recommended him to the position which he holds, 
namely, an indifference to the ordinary claims of 
sleep. So after the rest of the camp were quietly 
sleeping, they piled high the wood on the camp 
fire, and the grove lighted up with a red glow — an 
experience which all would have enjoyed, had 
they not been so "sleepy." This couple had en- 
joyed a long, quiet talk, had put on the last wood 
for the night and had watched the flames as they 
grew smaller till there was only a flicker left. 

It was half past one. They ought to have been 
in bed asleep. A slight crackling was heard in the 
bushes a few rods from the camp fire. It was 
only for an instant and then it ceased. Gardiner 
began talking to the student again, resuming the 
conversation where it had been interrupted by the 
noise. The sound was heard again — nearer and 
louder. The sound of irregular footfalls on the 
twigs and leaves was distinguished by both the 
young fellows. Conversation ceased. "What's 
that?" whispered Gardiner, "Hist!" was the 
student's reply, as both gazed in the direction of 
the noise. Gardiner had taken a revolver into the 
woods, and for a few days had carried it in his hip 
pocket, thinking he might need it for a signal if 
for no other purpose. But having had no use for 
it, he had put it into his travelling bag that morn- 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 1 67 

ing. The travelling bag was in his tent. When the 
branches began to move, and the noise among the 
twigs came so painfully near, he instinctively put 
his hand into his hip pocket for the means of self 
defense. It was not there. A moment later the 
thick foliage parted, and the cause of it all appeared 
in the opening. It was Sam. In the uncertain 
light of the camp fire he presented a strange appear- 
ance. His face was ghastly white, his lips tightly 
compressed, his eyes seemed set, and stared into 
vacancy. He held an unlighted lantern in his 
hand. "Hello, Sam," said the student with an 
air of relief. "That you? " said Gardiner, mechan- 
ically. But Sam gave no reply. He moved quietly 
forward. It was plain that Sam was not responsi- 
ble for what he did. He was asleep. With steady 
step he came nearer the fire — nearer the puzzled 
night watchers — but as he stopped a few feet from 
them, instead of noticing them, he seemed to be 
gazing past them, in the direction of Granny Cross 
Cove. "What's up now, Sam?" said Gardiner, 
as he scanned the strange figure — "Say, what's up?" 

"I — have — troubles — of — my — own!" said Sam, 
in a tone which would never have been recognized 
as belonging to him. 

"Say, what are you trying to do, anyway," said 
Gardiner, "trying to be funny?" 

"Have troubles of my own — my own,'" said the 
awkward visitor, mournfully. 

Sam gave the unlighted lantern a flourish, and 



1 68 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

moved stiffly forward to the fireplace, made a circle 
about the dying embers, and then turned to leave 
the place. Gardiner and the student remained 
silent, watching the visitor's strange movements. 
As Sam reached the opening which he had made in 
the bushes, as he first appeared to them, he turned 
about, raised the lantern for a moment over his 
head, and with the same vacant stare in his eyes, 
said: 

' ' Troubles — of — my — own ! ' ' 

Then he disappeared. 

"Say," said the student, "Sam's a sleepwalker, 
isn't he?" 

"Looks like it," said Gardiner. "What they 
call a somnambulist. Say, we'd better get to bed, 
anyway." 

There is always more pleasure in getting ready 
for a camping trip, or getting the tents up after the 
woods are reached, than in preparing for the return 
home. The camp of 1900 had been a happy suc- 
cess. The location was beautiful, the weather, 
with the exception of three days early in our stay 
at the lake, had been fine. Everybody with whom 
we had to deal in any way had been kind and help- 
ful. The fishing had not been up to the expecta- 
tion, but this may have been because too much 
had been expected. The cooking had been good. 
Blake and Dan had been very faithful. In fact, 
in Blake's honor, some one evolved the following: 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 169 

"Oh, a very wonderful cook is Blake; 
He's sometimes asleep and sometimes awake; 
He can boil, he can fry, but he cannot bake; 
But a wonderful cook is Blake." 

This was a reference to the somewhat limited 
cooking facilities in the woods. The cooks had no 
oven. So their operations were confined to boiling 
and frying. There was also another song com- 
posed by an irresponsible member of the party. 
At the close of the camp an effort was made to get 
it for publication. No one seemed to know much 
about it except Sam. He said that he remembered 
something about it; he had forgotten the words 
and the tune, but the general sentiment remained 
with him. General sentiments are of no use in a 
condensed report like this; and Sam's contribution 
is worth no more, for the writer's purpose, than the 
testimony of those who had forgotten everything. 

The day fixed for the breaking of camp was 
August 23rd — a good day for it, as the sky was 
cloudless at sunrise, and, as Blake said, the lake 
was as "calm as a hardwood floor." We do not 
like to dwell on the scenes of camp-breaking — the 
taking down of tents, the final plunge in the lake, 
the last handful of huckleberries fresh from the 
bush, the farewell look at everything to which we 
had become more or less attracted. No; there is a 
bit of pathos in it all. But the sun was bright; 
the steamer arrived at eight o'clock sharp. 

It was sunset when the procession reached T. E, 



170 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Ham's house in Cambridge, but the good man and 
his household were on the lookout, and it was a 
tempting spread which had been prepared for the 
travellers. The ladies occupied rooms in the house ; 
Gardiner slept in a hammock suspended from the 
posts of the veranda; Sam and the Yale student 
rolled themselves in blankets and slept out in the 
field, in the dew and under the stars; Nutter 
occupied a hay cart which stood on the barn floor, 
the rest — including the man with the boys — slept 
in the hay mow. 

Probably everybody would have slept peacefully 
till the morn, but for a single occurrence. It 
happened that some of the party who occupied the 
hay mow were blessed with a generous covering 
for their skeletons — there was not a scrawny one 
among them. The rotund forms of Ed McDonald, 
Jumbo, and others, whom we need not specify, 
had been the objects of criticism several times on 
the journey. Nutter's reference to the hay mow 
as the "Fatties' Gallery," rankled in the bosom of 
each well-fed object of his wit. 

It was after midnight when there was a rustle in 
the hay mow, followed a little later by a movement 
of the wheels on the barn floor — first slow, then 
faster, then a heavy thump and rattle as the hay 
wagon in which Nutter, author of the irreverent 
remark above quoted, was sleeping, rolled from the 
barn floor out into the field. After a period of 
silence the man who was with the boys crept cau- 



SUMMER DAYS AT SEBEC LAKE 171 

tiously to the edge of the mow, to the railing of the 
" Fatties' Gallery" and peered out. The moonlight 
struggled through a thick mist which enshrouded 
the forms of Sam and the student. Nutter was 
trying to adjust himself to new conditions. 

"Is that you, Nutter?" said theman with the boys. 

' ' I think so, " responded a voice out of the thick fog. 

"How came you out there?" said the man in a 
tone of mock interest and sympathy. 

"You can't prove it by me," said Nutter, "I 
don't know." 

He never will know. Several efforts have been 
made to discover who started the wheels. It has 
been proved again and again that several of Nut- 
ter's companions — chiefly the fat ones — heard the 
wheels move and the general commotion when the 
wagon went out of the barn, and Sam has confessed 
that the noise "sounded awfully funny" to him. 
There have been some interesting rides — ^John 
Gilpin's, and Paul Revere's, and Sheridan's, — but 
Nutter's midnight ride from the barn to the hay- 
field — for certain fleshy fellows — has an interest all 
its own. 

At an early hour the party said "Good-bye" to 
host and hostess, and started on the homeward 
way. Before sunset they caught a glimpse of 
Good Will Farm — a spot which means more to 
most of the party than lakeside camp or summer 
outing can ever mean — and an hour later all were 
at home again. 



VI 

MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 

July i^. It has been understood between us for 
several days that we two — "Chick" and I — should 
start for Greenville, Maine, and go into the woods 
in the Moosehead Lake region this morning. I 
selected Chick as a comrade this year, as a sharer 
of the joys and vicissitudes of first days in camp, 
for several reasons. Chick knows how to cook; 
he is quiet in manner; he is companionable. Now, 
there are other fellows at Good Will who would 
have been pleased to take his place, and they would 
have met the requirements even to the art of cook- 
ing, but I had to select one of them and the above 
reasons are all valid. It would be rather hard for 
me to cook in the woods, hobbling about on two 
crutches; it's so far sometimes from the fireplace 
to the salt box and other things called for in getting 
a meal. 

Nothing happened on our journey until we 
reached Dexter, something over fifty miles from 
home. Here a former Good Will boy boarded the 
train; said he was going to Greenville today and 
to Wilson Pond fishing tomorrow. I never start 
for Moosehead Lake that I don't unexpectedly 
find a Good Will boy somewhere on the way. This 

172 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 73 

time it is a "one time boy" who is now an ambi- 
tious junior in a New England college — success to 
him. And we journeyed together, Chick, the stud- 
ent and I. 

At Foxcroft, we waited an hour for a belated 
train, and while waiting I fell in with an old-time 
friend, and a long-time Maine school teacher. We 
talked of the woods and of a curious and interesting 
controversy now in progress, a bloodless war over 
so-called "nature fakirs," the doings of the lower 
order of creation, the place of the imagination in 
the study of natural history, and kindred features 
of interest. 

"Well," said my friend, "I owned a calf once; 
it died; it lay in the field not far from an old shed. 
You know that crows have their sentinels — their 
leaders and so forth ; and a sentinel will alight in a 
place and if everything is all right the rest will 
follow. I've seen them do it lots of times. I wanted 
to shoot that crow and I could do it from the shed, 
while he (the crow) was at the carcass. So I went 
into the shed with my gun. But the crow saw me 
go in and he kept away. I left the shed and he 
saw me go out of the field and as soon as I was out 
of the way he went to the carcass of the calf and 
called the rest. Then I took a man with me and 
went into the shed ; after we had been there a while, 
I sent the man away; but the crow stayed at a 
safe distance. I hadn't come out and he knew it. 
So I went away and the crow returned. I tried it 



174 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

again and this time I took two men with me; and 
after staying in the shed a while the two departed ; 
but the crow kept away: he knew one man was 
left in the shed and that he was in gun shot. So the 
next day I went to the shed again ; there were four 
of us this time. After a while I sent three away 
and remained in the shed with my gun. The crow 
saw the three men leave the shed and the field; 
he had reached the limit of his ability to count; he 
couldn't tell the difference between four men and 
three men and he deliberately lighted on the car- 
cass. I shot him." 

Just as he reached the conclusion of his graphic 
little tale, the train for Greenville rounded the 
curve, and we boarded it for our destination. 

At Drew's, which is the place where we leave 
trunks while we are in the woods, taking out such 
things as we need in our return to the primitive, 
we changed our clothes, divesting ourselves of all 
" fineries, " donning woodsy attire. 

"I'm enjoying this greatly," I said to Chick as 
we sat at the table. "Yes, I am ; and do you know, 
Chick, that a man feels peculiar when he eats a 
meal like this and isn't sure that he will have an- 
other chance at a good meal for six weeks. Six 
weeks is a long time. " 

Chick smiled. 

There was a confident quality to his smile, and 
I verily believe he thinks he can get good appetizing 
meals for me. Nor do I doubt it, for had I doubts, 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 75 

he would not be going with me; but what's the 
harm of j ust asking a question ? Yet I should not be 
much surprised if he got back at me soon, for these 
little pleasantries are chickens that do come home 
to roost. 

For instance, last week I received in the mail 
a volume of national statistics — a Congressional 
Report — from our Senator, the Hon. Mark Petti- 
john. 

"Just in the nick of time," I said ironically; 
"what would I have done for reading matter in the 
woods if Mark had not sent that volume. Just 
think of the happy hours I can spend in the wilder- 
ness reading statistics" — and as I said it I turned 
the pages so that a member of my family — one 
of my sons, — could see the solid pages of figures. 
Well, that was the end of it, I supposed, but to- 
day when at Drew's I unpacked the trunk which 
the son had packed for me and locked at the last 
moment, the first article to attract my attention 
was that volume of statistics. So for reading matter 
in camp, thanks to my own thoughtfulness and 
my son's facetiousness, we have the Bible and a 
volume of congressional figures. 

There is no spring at the point where we camp 
and so the question of drinking water would be a 
serious one, were it not for the fact that the water 
in Wilson's Pond is clear as crystal and doubtless 
pure enough ; but it is not cold. 

"I'll tell you," said a guide to me today, "how 



176 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

you can get cold water out of the lake. Attach 
a bottle or jug to a fish line and let it down sixty 
or seventy feet in the middle of the pond ; then draw 
it up and it will be as cold as you want, for it will 
be from the bottom of the pond. " 

"But the bottle will be filled with the warmer 
water from near the surface, " I said. 

"To be sure," replied the guide, "but as soon 
as it gets down where it is cold the warm water 
will rise — warm water always rises — and the cold 
water takes its place. " 

"Ah! " said I. 

July 16. The very first night I ever spent on 
this point was three years ago when Blake and I 
lived close to nature five weeks — he a college 
student earning one part of the wherewithal to 
carry himself through another year of studies. That 
night some wild beast was prowling about our tent ; 
but after the first night we heard little or nothing 
from him. It was the same way last night but a 
different kind of beast. 

Chick was asleep ; he sleeps wonderfully whenever 
the mosquitos and midgets let up on him. I heard 
twigs cracking and the steps of an animal coming 
toward the tent. There was a pause of a full min- 
ute; then the creature bounded away. I heard his 
retreating footfalls and was pleased that he had 
left us. But before I could get asleep he returned 
and came nearer. I didn't like it. I let my imagi- 
nation — what I have of one — take the reins. I 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 77 

could see in my mind's eye, just outside my tent, 
any one of several terrible beasts, such as inhabit 
the Maine woods. Then the unwelcome visitor 
started on the run again, back into the woods, 
though all the while I had lain perfectly quiet and 
Chick was in the land of dreams, where no midgets 
are and where mosquitos neither bite nor buzz. 

The next time he returned, and it was inside of 
ten minutes, he made approaches of a few feet, 
stopping for a long silence between each advance, 
until he was not, to the best of my knowledge, 
mxore than a rod from the tent. The situation 
seemed uncanny. I had left the lantern out at 
Greenville. My gun and rifle were down home — 
for I take a peculiar satisfaction in leaving firearms 
at home as I go into the woods in the summer, when 
there is nothing to shoot except in the wanton 
destruction of life. But I wished I knew what it 
was, just outside the canvas and what his plans 
were. I recall Manly Hardy's recent and ex- 
plicit contrasting of the Maine bobcat and the 
Canadian Lynx. I could see the broad woolly paws 
of the one and the smooth cat-like paws of the 
other. 

I reached out my hand and laid it on Chick's 
breast ; it semed full and strong and — too deep for a 
lynx to crush in with his jaws; just as a caribou's, 
according to Roosevelt, is too muscular for any such 
feat. I felt of my own chest; that, too, was lynx 
proof — bobcat proof — just like a caribou's. But 

13 



178 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

as I happened to touch my own flesh, I was an- 
noyed to find that it was not like human flesh at 
all — it was rough, cold, pimply; for the first time 
in my life fear had given me "goose skin. " 

I continued to think, but it didn't help me. I 
grew desperate. Wanting to say something, I 
raised the wall of the tent suddenly and shouted. 
I didn't expect the animal to understand my 
language, but I fancied he would take the hint that 
he wasn't wanted from the tone of my voice, — 
my general attitude. 

"Get out of this," I yelled. 

The intruder had no idea of what was wanted 
and didn't move. I rather hoped, too, that my 
shout would awaken Chick so that I could feel 
that I had company; but mosquitos and midgets 
had suspended operations pending the break of 
day and Chick was oblivious. About three min- 
utes after my yell broke the stillness, that wild 
beast — whatever it was — went rushing through the 
woods making a great racket, having started from 
the point where I had last heard him, about a rod 
from the tent. 

A rabbit makes a lot of noise In the dark. 



This morning I said to Chick that we must decide 
what we would have for morning reading in camp. 

"You may decide first whether it shall be the 
Old Testament or the New; if the Old, whether it 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 79 

shall be historical, prophetical or devotional; if 
prophetical, whether major or minor prophets. 
If you decide on the New Testament, you must 
choose between the Gospels, the Epistles, and the 
Revelation." When we reached a final decision, 
it was the book of Proverbs. So today we began 
to read Solomon's Proverbs, "To give subtilty to 
the simple, to the young man knowledge and discre- 
tion." 

At dinner we had two guests, though any house- 
keeper would say that the first day in a new house, 
and before anything is set to rights, is not the best 
time to entertain. They paid us a compliment, 
however, by eating quite heartily of the food placed 
before them, "asking no questions for conscience' 
sake, " and we were very happy. 

One of our guests goes on two crutches; so do 
I — and as we sat around the fireplace there were, 
of course, four crutches, one for each of the party. 
I expected that crutches would be very inconvenient 
at times in the woods and they are; in fact, they 
are little short of a nuisance, but at the same time 
I am surprised to discover what a convenience they 
are. If one is leaning on a pair of crutches, he can 
do a deal of stirring among the dried leaves and 
branches without stooping; he can even poke the 
fire with his crutch and do many other similar 
things. And yet no one ever thinks of taking a 
crutch into the woods for convenience. 



l8o ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS ' 

July ly. Chick and I had a long talk today 
about various things. He does not talk all the 
time — a most fortunate thing for me — but at times 
he is the best kind of a comrade because of what he 
says; at other times he is equally good because of 
the way he keeps silent. I would not want to begin 
camp with a mere talking machine ; a sphinx would 
be equally undesirable. Chick can be either to 
me; but, as a matter of fact, he is neither, and that 
is one reason why I like him in camp. 

I had read, not long ago, a magazine article about 
boys — an article which contained many statements 
about them. One was that boys do not care to be 
loved. Nothing had been said about the magazine 
article, but we were out trolling for salmon. It is 
understood that there are salmon in Wilson Pond, 
— near the bottom ; I have never seen one of them 
and I would be a poor witness in an effort to prove 
that there are salmon in the pond, but there is no 
harm in trolling for them. Chick remarked that he 
remembered when I told him that I loved him. 

"Tell me about it," I said. 

"It was when they were building the Manual 
Training Building at Good Will," replied Chick, 
"and Prospect Cottage had been moved back to 
make room for it. They were going to make Pros- 
pect Cottage a part of the 'Buckminster' and it 
was propped up on piles of old railroad ties. You 
had your writing desk in one of the rooms — the 
old office — and the only way to get to it was to 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO l8l 

walk from the ground up to the doorway on a 
narrow plank. I was looking around and you called 
me to you. You said, ' Did I ever tell you that I 
love you?' and I said, 'No, you never did,' and 
you said, 'Well, I'll tell you now, I do, so you'll 
know.' " 

Chick is seventeen years old now; he must have 
been thirteen when he learned that a man loved him ; 
but he gives me no hint that his feelings were hurt 
or his pride injured by the knowledge. Chick was 
a genuine boy then — a fair sample of boyhood, 
and he is an equally good sample of older boyhood 
now. When he fell into the reminiscent mood, and 
told me this incident, which I could not have possi- 
bly recalled and of which I had no recollection, 
I was reminded of that magazine article. 

I do not write for magazines ; perhaps no maga- 
zine would buy my wares, and what is the use; 
but had I the pen of a skilled writer, I would like 
to prepare an article on, "Some Wrong Statements 
About Boyhood." Some of these that I would 
write about are: (i) that boys do not care to be 
loved; (2) that boys are young savages; (3) that 
boys are of no value except as " Men of Tomorrow ' ' ; 
(4) that boys expect everything to be done for them 
and are unappreciative ; (5) that boys are corrupted 
by a clean, wholesome knowledge of physiological 
facts too often withheld; (6) that boys have no 
use for religion, prayer being irksome, and thoughts 
of God repellent. 



1 82 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

July i8. It was in my boyhood that I read of 
the Irish landlord, who taking an early morning 
stroll on his estate, met one of his tenants with 
a gun on his shoulder, although the privilege of 
hunting was not given to tenants. " Good morning, 
my lord," said the tenant, "you are out early to- 
day." "Yes," replied the landlord, "I am out 
after an appetite for my breakfast; but what are 
you out here for? " "I am out for a breakfast for 
my appetite, " responded the tenant. 

A somewhat similar situation was noted this 
morning when Chick and I were out in the boat — 
Chick after a fish for his appetite; I after an appetite 
for fish. Neither of us was successful. Chick 
caught nothing; and I failed to get an appetite. 
"If a man will not work, neither shall he eat," is 
a scripture capable of various interpretations; but 
it is true in the woods as elsewhere, that unless 
a man does something, he cannot have the appetite 
that makes eating a pleasure and digestion easy. 
And a man who must travel on crutches is not 
likely to do much in the thick woods. That's why 
it was as desirable that I should succeed in my 
search for an appetite for breakfast as it was that 
Chick should succeed in his search for a breakfast 
for his appetite. 

July ig. We have no almanac or calendar in 
camp ; but this morning we read the fourth chapter 
of Proverbs, which indicates that this is the fourth 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 83 

full day in camp. It is not an eventful day; none 
of these camp days are. There is a simple routine, 
which is observed with considerable faithfulness, 
though the time varies a bit from day to day. This 
morning we took a dip at four-thirty o'clock in- 
stead of five, which is our custom. Last night, 
when we came in from fishing, it sounded as though 
there was a great orchestra somewhere in the dis- 
tance — all the instruments playing one monotonous 
strain. We stopped and listened. It was the mos- 
quitos. We estimated that there were forty million 
of them — a rough estimate; this is equal to half 
the population in the United States. 

I wonder why the "nature fakirs" don't turn 
their attention to the mosquito. There is nothing 
else below man that exhibits such intelligence — 
such ingenuity. Dogs are patient; cats are relent- 
less ; foxes are crafty ; wolves are ferocious ; bobcats 
are savage; but mosquitos — the blood-thirsty 
denizens of the Maine woods in June — have all 
these qualities and several more which I have not 
mentioned. They are atrocious enemies. I think 
the word "atrocious" is a good one in this case, 
for it comes from "ater" which is the Latin for 
"dark" and these pests breed in the dark and do 
their worst work in the twilight. They are dastardly 
miscreants, bold fiends, cowardly villains. They 
sneak into our tent while we are away, and occupy 
secret places till we are undressed ; they hide under 
the beds and remain silent till Chick and I have 



1 84 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

said "good-night;" they crawl under the walls of 
our tent and celebrate the feat with unseemly 
noises. 

As soon as we come in from the lake for the night, 
we build a tiny fire of paper in the tent and half 
smother it with cedar boughs. In three minutes 
the tent is filled with a sweet white smoke, so dense 
that man nor beast could live in it — so dense that 
it hides the ridgepole of the tent. The mosquitos 
lie low; not a buzz is heard. We could not breathe 
ourselves, only that our bed is four inches from the 
ground and the air is better there. We cover our- 
selves with blankets, rap a towel about the head, 
so that the only part of the body that is exposed 
is the tip of the nose and the nostrils. In ten min- 
utes, or just as soon as we begin to doze, the smoke 
thins out and we hear a buzz. It is equivalent to, 
" Come on fellows; it's all over with. " Then there 
come answering buzzes from all parts of the tent. 
The grand search for blood is on again. 

Last night I thought that one buzz sounded like, 
"Where did they go? " and another like, "Their 
blood is for the swiftest, " but it was probably imagi- 
inary. If our noses were woodchucks, it would 
take a dog some time to locate them; if our noses 
were mice, it would take a cat some time to dis- 
cover them; if our noses were ground sparrows* 
nests, full of tender fledglings, it would take a fox 
some time to get at them. But our noses are just 
human noses with blood in them. The mosquitos 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 85 

go straight for them and the noses of proud human- 
ity — the crowning work of creation — are ruthlessly 
punctured by the proboscides of these pusillanimous 
insects. '*0h! why should the spirits of mortals 
be proud! " Mosquitos have no business in the 
Maine woods at this particular time anyway; but 
in all things the season is two weeks later than usual 
and we expect one more week of them — one week 
only. It's a question of staying quality and we 
expect to win out. 

July 20. I told Chick this morning that tomor- 
row would be Sunday; that though I would have 
no audience, I had better select a text; and that we 
would talk it over when the time came. Toward 
noon, he was cutting wood for the fireplace; I was 
in the tent and had just opened the Bible at random 
and was about to begin a search for a text when 
he called: "Oh my, come here and see these ants 
carrying off their eggs." I left the Bible and the 
tent and joined him. He had dragged a part of a 
half decayed log into the kitchen — all the space 
around the fire place, where we cut wood, cook, and 
the like, is the kitchen — and had split it open. The 
log was the home of hundreds of great black ants 
that were in a state of greatest excitement, and were 
trying to carry innumerable pupae, larger than 
themselves, to places of safety. The pupae were 
large and white and there were enough to nearly 
fill a pint cup. 



l86 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

We talked about the ant, his natural history, 
and his habits, for a few minutes, then I went back 
to the tent and to the open Bible. Glancing at the 
page, my eyes fell on this: "Go to the ant, thou 
sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: which, 
having no guide, overseer or ruler, provideth her 
meat in the summer and gathereth her food in the 
harvest." 

"O, come here, " I cried to Chick, "and see what 
my eyes first fell on after examining those ants." 
It was just a coincidence and one that gave a 
moment's pleasure. 

"What's the matter with those words for your 
text? " queried Chick, and I searched no farther. 

A poster appeared in a conspicuous place in 
camp today, though probably no one but Chick 
and I ever will see it. It hung in the pantry — the 
pantry is the corner of the tent where Chick has 
nailed five packing cases, of various dimensions,' 
together, into a symmetrical whole that contains 
our supplies — and it reads as follows: 

Lost. 
One fine, live male loon. Head and neck black, showing iri- 
descence; beak black, dotted with white; breast pure white. A 
magnificent bird. For further particulars inquire at "The 
Camp." 

The particulars are these: Chick was at work in 
the pantry, arranging our canned goods in a rather 
appetizing order on the pantry shelves. I was 
writing letters, and was sitting at the kitchen table, 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 87 

facing the pond. The table is three feet from the 
water's edge. I heard a splash of water and, look- 
ing up, saw a loon sitting on the water, about two 
rods from the shore. He must have arrived there 
in a passage under water like a submarine boat 
and it was his coming to the surface which made the 
slight splash I heard. "Look out of the tent," 
I said to Chick in a low tone and Chick obeyed. 
The beautiful bird remained silent for a minute or 
two and three times I gave the loon call which 
these birds have often answered when at a distance. 
He turned about and heading toward the opposite 
shore half a mile away, he dove. "Now watch," 
I said, "and see how long he stays under and where 
he comes up." We watched. The seconds grew 
into minutes. "Well, what became of him," I 
said musingly. "I should say as much," quoted 
Chick. We continued to scan the smooth surface 
of the pond, but no loon appeared. Three minutes 
passed; five minutes went; ten minutes had gone. 
We gave it up. Our loons — for they belonged to 
us as much as to anyone — have called and answered, 
day after day, night after night, and have often 
come quite near to our camp; but since this one 
mysteriously disappeared, we have seen nothing 
of loons. He probably swam a long distance with 
only his bill out of the water and went so near the 
other shore before his body emerged that we could 
not distinguish him. But it may safely be said that 
Chick and I are not very close students of nature. 



l88 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

July 21. The rain fell in torrents last night. It 
began with a thunder storm. Not thunder claps, 
but continuous roarings and rattlings as the thunder 
seemed to travel over our heads from one horizon 
to the other. It is a joy to listen to the rain on the 
canvas. We retired early because it was drier in 
bed than anywhere else ; then Chick began to talk. 
I wonder why it is that a boy, or man for that mat- 
ter, will talk more freely lying down than he will 
standing or sitting. Chick was no sphinx last night. 
Perhaps the rain coming in torrents on our tents, 
the wind roaring in the tree tops above us, the 
water dashing against the rocky point in angry, 
ragged splashes, the dense darkness and the red 
lightnings, before the heaviest thunderings, served 
to loosen his tongue and his thoughts; anyway, 
from seven to eleven there was no cessation in all 
these phenomena, including Chick's display of con- 
versational powers. Of course we slept late this 
morning. A guide in passing paddled his canoe to 
our point and left three letters; one from David 
Pontus saying that he comes Wednesday, one from 
a co-worker at Good Will saying that all are well 
at the Farm, and one from a Good Will boy, who 
hopes to visit my camp soon. It was Sunday in 
the woods. A chapter from the Bible; a short 
story fitting the day; two meals; a bit of letter 
writing; many thoughts of home and Good Will 
and friends here and there, and God. Then the 
day was done and we slept. 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 1 89 

Jiily 22. Chick has asked for stories lately and 
I have told him about some boys I have known, 
and other bits to take the place of stories which we 
would be reading had we brought any into camp; 
but we deliberately and purposely omitted them 
from our supplies. I asked him today if he had 
ever heard of the strange experience that Wishy 
Fleetfoot and I had on Upper Wilson Pond. Then, 
just to amuse him with the spinning of a yarn I 
told him this: 

Fleetfoot's name was William, but he had two 
sets of front teeth and when he was a boy his 
schoolmates fancied that his dental outfit resembled 
a woodchuck's and so for a time he was called 
"Woodchuck," but this soon degenerated as all 
names with any flavor of dignity must degenerate 
in the m.ouths of boyhood into a nickname and he 
was called "Wishy," — just "Wishy Fleetfoot." 
Wishy was about thirty years old when he guided 
me through the Wilson Pond region in the summer 
of 1853. 

One afternoon we had caught one fish when 
Wishy broke his line. He said he thought the hook 
caught in a seam in a rock someway, for as he pulled 
hard, the hook seemed to loosen its hold on what- 
ever it had hit, but at the same instant the line 
broke, so he lost part of the line and all of the hook. 
It spoiled his fishing and while I was trying for a 
fish to go with the one in the bottom of the boat, 
Wishy set about the task of dressing the fish I had 



190 ROUTHING IT WITH BOYS 

just caught. He was a bungler at dressing fish — 
as awkward a man with a knife as I ever saw. He 
began to dress that fish by cutting off its tail. He 
only got that far when I said ; 

"There's a tempest coming, Wishy; get hold of 
that rope as quick as you can, pull up and we'll 
get back to camp. " 

Wishy obeyed my orders and I laid hold of the 
oars. He sat back in the boat as I began to row 
and suddenly said : 

"What's the use of taking this fish to camp; 
why not throw it over and let a fish hawk pick it 
up?" 

It is not my custom to catch more fish than my 
party can eat and we had violated no custom or 
principle that day; we had erred only in capturing 
one fish not large enough for a full meal for us and 
the two men in camp. 

"Oh, were there others in camp with you? " 
queried Chick interrupting me at the risk of break- 
ing the thread of my story. 

" Certainly, " I replied. " I neglected to say that 
Abraham Lincoln was my guest in camp for two 
weeks that summer, and after he arrived, we de- 
cided to invite Stephen A. Douglas to join us. 
Douglas ran up just to spend three or four days 
with us and got there the night before. We left 
the two men in camp talking politics. Lincoln 
was anxious that I should represent my district but 
Douglas thought I lacked political acumen. Well, 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 19I 

as I was saying, Wishy proposed that he throw the 
fish overboard, and I said, "It's a happy thought, 
Wishy, let her go, " and overboard went that tailless 
fish. We supposed that it was dead and you can 
understand our surprise, Chick, when we saw that 
fish right itself and start for the depths of the 
pond. 

"Well, ril be bumped, "exclaimed Wishy. "Say, 
fishy, here's your tail," and he picked up the tail 
that lay in the bottom of the boat and threw it 
back toward the place where the fish had gone 
down. Of course, we forgot all about the circum- 
stance soon as we reached camp. The next morn- 
ing Wishy began to talk about his line. He de- 
clared that five-sixths of it was in the pond and he 
wished he could get it. The water in Upper Wil- 
son is as clear as crystal and that morning the sur- 
face was like a mirror in its smoothness. He 
thought he might be able to see the bottom and, 
by using a sinker and hook and another line, haul it 
up. So we went out to the place and as soon as 
the disturbance caused by our oars had passed, 
Wishy leaned over, and using his broad brimmed 
hat to shade the water, he peered into the depths. 
I had no idea that he would ever see that line again ; 
to tell the truth I regarded our journey out there 
after it as a kind of fool's errand. But Wishy 
hadn't been scanning the bottom of the lake two 
minutes, when he gave a sudden little start as 
though he had caught sight of something. In the 



19^ ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

new position he had taken by a slight shift of his 
body, he remained motionless for several minutes. 

"What do you see? " I asked. 

"Hist!" said Wishy in a hoarse whisper, and 
I waited another ten minutes. Then I ventured 
to repeat my question. 

"What do you see? " 

"Hist! I tell ye," whispered Wishy. Thinking 
that Wishy was trying to guy me, for we were like 
schoolmates when we got into a boat, I said : 

"Come, Wishy, I am going back to camp." 

"Don't, don't, I beg of you don't," was the 
pleading response in a low tone — "just look over 
the side of the boat; don't make any noise. " 

I was convinced by my comrade's earnest manner 
that he had discovered something very unusual 
beneath the surface; I also saw that, whatever he 
had discovered, I must move carefully or I could 
not share it with him. Taking off my broad- 
brimmed hat — we all wore hats in the woods back 
in the 50's — I shaded the water as Wishy was 
doing and peered into the depths. 

How can I tell what I saw? Some thirty feet 
below was a rocky bottom. A few large boulders 
were scattered about. Two of these boulders lay 
close together, leaving a crevice of only an inch or 
two between them. The fish which Wishy had 
de-tailed the day before, and still later thrown into 
the water, had pushed its head into the crevice 
between the boulders. The tail which had been 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 193 

ruthlessly detached by Wishy, was already a part 
of its owner's body again, but the work was not 
finished. When the hook was lost, it had been 
caught on the bottom and Wishy's theory was 
correct; he had pulled so hard on the line that the 
hook, lacking in temper, had bent out straight. 
The line and hook were both there. A larger fish 
than the one which had lost its tail was making use 
of it. He would pick up the hook which made an 
excellent needle, and backing off from the unfortu- 
nate companion, would dash with lightning rapidity 
toward the fish held in place by the two boulders. 
The movement was so swift that we could not follow 
it easily but in an instant we would see that this 
finny surgeon of Upper Wilson had pushed the 
straightened hook entirely through that part of 
his patient's body which protruded from beneath 
the boulders much as a woman pushes the needle 
through the stocking she is darning. Then the 
fish surgeon would swim around to the other side 
and pick up the needle and tug away at it until 
he had drawn the line through and made half a 
stitch. Then starting on that side, he would re- 
peat the operation and the stitch would be com- 
pleted. Two complete stitches had been taken 
before we began to watch the proceedings. Wishy 
and I watched while three others were taken and 
the work seemed complete. The surgeon fish 
moved away and disappeared. 

" I'll tell you what I think, Wishy," said I. "The 

14 



194 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

job is completed to the old doctor's satisfaction, 
but the patient has got to stay in bed till the 
wound heals. See? We can't wait for that and we 
might as well go home. Your fish line is of more 
use down there than it ever will be to you. " 

We were just about to move, when we saw the 
surgeon coming majestically back, and circling 
around the spliced tail. He was followed by a 
small fish, such as I had never seen before. It had 
a large sharp dorsal fin like a black bass, but it 
could not have been a bass, for there are none in 
this part of the state and never have been. The 
fish that had done all this work for his afflicted 
fellow fish picked up one of the long ends of the 
line and swam slowly aw^ay till it was drawn tight 
as a fiddle string. Then the strange little fish with 
his dorsal fin erect, darted underneath the line 
close to the patient's body, with such rapidity 
that the fin cut the line off close up to the scales. 
Then the sam^e operation was performed on the 
other side. The strange little fish went away, and 
while we still lingered and watched, the patient 
backed out of the crevice and tried his mended 
appendage. It was such an awkward movement 
that I couldn't help laughing. It was about as 
much like a fish's swim as my first steps on a pair 
of crutches was like a man's walk. It was so funny, 
in fact, that Wishy was convulsed with laughter, 
though he didn't dare to make any noise. I could 
feel the boat tremble as Wishy — who was quite 



MEMOIRS OF A CAMP FOR TWO 195 

fat — shook with merriment. Suddenly there was a 
tiny splash as though some small object had fallen 
into the water, and Wishy stopped laughing. Both 
fish darted away as though frightened, and I saw 
Wishy 's false teeth reach the bottom of the lake, close 
to the place where this operation had been performed. 

"Well, I'll be hanged! " cried Wishy. "There 
goes my teeth! " 

' ' I thought you said that Mr. Woodchuck Fleetfoot 
had two sets of natural front teeth," interrupted 
Chick, "and got his first name because of them." 

"I did say that very thing," I retorted, "but 
they were his upper front teeth. Wishy lost his 
lower front teeth when he had bilious fever, at 
sixteen years of age. The attending physician 
gave him an overdose of calomel, and his teeth 
dropped out. But really the splicing of that fish's 
tail was the most extraordinary thing I ever saw. 
I have never read anything like it before nor did 
I ever see anything like it before or — 

"What are you laughing at. Chick? You don't 
believe it? Who asked you to believe it, anyway? 
You said, 'Tell me a story,' and I told it. But I 
guess when I tell you that about a week later I 
caught that same fish in Upper Wilson Pond, you 
will have to believe it. Yes, I caught him. The 
tail had grown on and the stitches had been taken 
out; the scales were just forming on the joint. You 
don't believe it. Chick, you say you don't believe 
it? Then don't ask me to tell you any more stories.*' 



VII. 

LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 

Dear Good Will Record: 

We are here in camp. There are seventeen in 
the party. The camp is on the east shore of Egge- 
moggin Reach, not far from Sargentville, Me. 
There is not the first hint of dissipation or intem- 
perance in camp, and yet I seem doomed to have 
suggestions of the spirituous attached to my outing 
this year. First I planned to camp three miles 
from Moosehead Lake, on the shores of a beautiful 
pond. After arrangements were all made, I real- 
ized that we were to camp at the foot of Rum 
Mountain. Later I learned our best fishing was to 
be done in Rum Pond. In July word came that 
the water in Wilson Pond — the site of the camp — 
was very high on account of a dam which had been 
built. I abandoned my plans, and was at a loss 
to know what to do. My thoughts turned to the 
sea. I was influenced somewhat, in forming my 
plans, by the poor health of one of the boys who 
was to accompany me, and by the hope that the 
sea air would prove beneficial to him. So the de- 
cision was finally reached that we come here — to 
this beautiful spot known as " Punch-Bowl." Rum 
Mountain, Rum Pond and the Punch Bowl! If I 
196 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 197 

don't stay through my two weeks here I can proba- 
bly go to Bluehill and camp at Toddy Pond. 
There is not much choice in nomenclature. Proba- 
bly all these places were named before the passage 
of the prohibitory law — I cannot tell. 

But this is an ideal spot for a camp by the sea. 
A few rods from the tents, between them and the 
shore, stands an old brick chimney. There has been 
some contention about its height, and so we counted 
the layers of bricks and then multiplied. We 
probably failed to allow enough for the mortar 
between the bricks, for by our calculation the chim- 
ney is seventy-two feet high, while we have been 
told since our measurement that it is just seventy- 
five feet. It was here, that years ago, the Egge- 
moggin Mining Co. commenced mining silver and 
copper. About $30,000 was expended, and then 
the project was abandoned. The buildings burned 
— ^were struck by lightning, some one says — and 
this chimney now represents $30,000 of the hopeful 
investors' money. I mean that this is the only 
thing in sight; but near by is a shaft filled with 
water to the brim. Considerable anxiety has been 
expressed lest some one of us fall into this deep 
hole, as though one would be more likely to drown 
in one hundred and ten feet of water than in twenty 
feet; but a well twenty feet deep, with six feet of 
water in it, would be a greater danger, by far, than 
is this hole of startling depth. 

This old chimney has its uses. It is a landmark 



198 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

for the boys, and go where they will, unless there 
is a fog, they can find their way back to camp. 
Then, too, on the south side, about thirty feet 
from the ground, there is a hole in it; and this has 
already served as a balloting place. Any question 
between the two tents full of boys — there are seven 
fellows in each tent — can be adjusted thus: each 
boy takes six stones and has his turn at throwing 
them at that hole in the chimney. The first 
question was which group of boys should go on 
the first fishing trip; that was when we had only 
one boat. It was Sam's ballot of five stones out of 
six which settled it. Sam sleeps in my tent. 

By the way, we have four tents in our little 
canvas settlement — one in which the mother of two 
of the boys lives. She has her two daughters with 
her. One tent is the commissary's; the other two 
are for the boys. These tents are 12 by 14 feet, 
and seven boys are easily accommodated in each. 
One tent is supposed to be noisier than the other. As 
the boys sleep side by side — seven in a row — it has 
got abroad in our settlement in some way that, in 
one tent the seven sleep in a "row" — a continuous 
line, while in the other they sleep in a "row" — a 
noisy time or riot. So both are called the "Row" 
tent, the import of the name depending on the pro- 
nunciation. I will write again. 

Yours, sleeping in a row, 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 1 99 

Dear Good Will Record: 

We have had a row in camp. It happened last 
night, and was a most friendly affair, but it made 
a great deal of noise while it lasted. You see, 
Sam came to camp with us, but only to stay two 
or three days, because he is to canvass for the 
Good Will Publishing Company. Monday night 
he went up to Sargentville with Blake and Kimball. 
They hinted to Sam that they would like some ice 
cream, but Sam was stolid. He wouldn't order for 
them, nor let them order at his expense, nor any- 
thing. They told him that if he didn't order, he 
would be ''awfully sorry." But he couldn't be 
scared. So they came back to camp, and Sam was 
as defiant as that good natured soul can be. Sam 
has never been known to lose his temper, or, as 
the boys say, to "get mad." So he puts up with a 
lot of banter and loving imposition, from time to 
time, and enjoys it. Sam started off on his can- 
vassing trip, and nothing had been done to make him 
sorry. The regrets were with Blake and Kimball. 

"Why didn't we think to duck him," said Blake. 

"If he comes again he'll get a ducking," said 
Kimball, "and don't you forget it." 

Everybody in camp missed Sam during the three 
days of his absence. Many a time did one boy and 
another say, "I wish Sam were here," and last 
night he arrived. He had been very successful in 
canvassing, and came back to report, before starting 
on a longer trip. There was a smile of quiet satis- 



200 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

faction on Blake's face; Kimball wore an expression 
of expectancy. They came to me to say that they 
proposed to duck Sam in the sea before they slept. 
There was no reason why I should object. When 
bed time came, for some reason not apparent to 
most of the boys, Kimball had an idea of turning 
in without undressing. Blake was already between 
the blankets without removing his clothing, but the 
boys did not notice it. Finally the light was putout. 

"Isn't this nice," said Sam, as he stretched out 
under the blankets, "it's fun to camp out." 

The other camp was quiet ; ours was becoming so, 
when Kimball lifted up the end of the canvas, and 
saw that the boys from the other tent were in read- 
iness to do their part. Then Blake and Kimball 
made a plunge for the unsuspecting Sam, and in a 
moment he had been dragged from under the tent. 

"Oh! what you doing?" "Where you going?" 
"Let go!" and a score of other exclamations woke 
everybody but Damren, and outside the tent was 
the sound of a mighty struggle. As the party 
carried Sam down over the hill, we who were in the 
tent heard him saying, "I'm awfully sorry I didn't 
treat you," and then we could hear him pleading 
in tones of mock terror, "Don't drown me!" 
" Don't drown me ! " Then there was a splash and 
a plunge. This morning Sam is quietly boasting 
that he is the only person in camp who has friends 
so devoted that when he wants a salt water bath, 
they will carry him to the water's edge, and put 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 201 

him in. He declares he is the most fortunate fel- 
low in camp. I think he may be right, in a measure, 
for the water is so cold here that it requires all the 
courage one can muster to go in, or, as Kimball said 
yesterday, "It takes a lot of sand to wade out up 
to your neck — a lot of real grit." 

On the other hand. Holmes says the water is 
"slick." But each day we are in for a bath — most 
of us — though the water seems very cold to us, 
who have been accustomed to the waters of the 
lakes, or the Kennebec River. 

We have discovered that we are catching more 
fish than we can eat, and so a halt has been called. 
The boys today are playing games, writing letters, 
watching the steam yachts of millionaires as they 
cruise through the Reach, occasionally exclaiming, 
"There's a bute!" and doing a lot of lazy, happy 
things. The northeast breeze blows into camp, 
right off the salt water. This is worthy of note. 
You understand that the northwest breeze is the 
clear weather breeze, and so, at most seaside re- 
sorts, the clear weather wind is over-land. But 
we are on the southeast shore of the Reach, and 
the clear weather breeze is direct from the sea. As 
a matter of fact, I must repeat it, this is an ideal 
camping place, and we are in the midst of a garden, 
bounded by the sea. 

Yours in the garden, 



202 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Dear Good Will Record: 

You know that we left Good Will on the after- 
noon train, and changing cars at Waterville, took 
the Bar Harbor express as far as Bangor. The 
boys had from 3 o'clock P. M. to bed time to see 
the city, except that they needed time for supper. 
This was procured at the Lowder, where they 
had a table and a room by themselves. Through 
the kindness of Secretary Jordan they were allowed 
to sleep in the Young Men's Christian Association 
gymnasium. 

After taking breakfast at the Lowder, they 
boarded the "Cymbria" for the sail down the 
Penobscot. It is a rare sail. On the "Cymbria" I 
met Mr. Foster, of the Maine Lake Ice Co., and 
learned that the plant of this company is near the 
Punch Bowl. Mr. Foster is a Christian gentleman, 
and has shown us many courtesies. First he told us 
to come to the ice house for all the ice we wanted. 
We are now using one of his boats. Several of us 
have been shown by him over the entire plant — 
ice and granite — of his company. The Maine Lake 
Ice Company is not in the trust. The houses now 
hold 26,000 tons, but another house is to be built 
before winter. The ice comes from a lake of won- 
derful clearness half a mile away. An endless 
chain carries the ice from the lake to the ice houses, 
which stand on the shores of Eggemoggin Reach, 
where the largest sailing vessels can load. This is 
the longest ice chain in existence. A visit to the 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 203 

pond — on the map as Walker's Pond — is worth the 
time and trouble. The Indian name is "Minne- 
waukon," "the place of beautiful waters." This 
lake so near our sea-side camp, makes a pleasing 
variety, and we have already caught a few black 
bass. I say "we," but must acknowledge that 
while "we" went after them, Kimball caught the 
only ones which were taken into the boat. The 
shores of Minnewaukon are beautiful. Our Sundays 
here are unlike those we have had in our former 
camps. Sometimes in the past we have had ser- 
vices to which the nearest neighbors were invited. 
Here we go to church five miles away ; last evening 
we attended service in the Sargentville chapel, 
which proved to be too small to accommodate the 
people who assembled. Sargentville's summer 
visitors are of the very best class. 

Yours 'twixt salt water and fresh. 

Dear Recqrd: 

I have concluded that boys were intended to live 
in the country and out of doors. President Hall, 
of Clark University, once exclaimed in a public ad- 
dress, "Oh, that we might put the schoolhouses 
on wheels and take these purblind boys into the 
country." But the boys, for six months of the 
year, at least, wouldn't care for the schoolhouse 
— tents would delight them. In our party this 
year are some fellows who have camped every sum- 
mer for years. They know just how to act; they 



204 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

are "old-timers," and adjust themselves to tent 
accommodations at once. There are also three or 
four fellows camping out for the first time in their 
lives. It is interesting to see how readily they 
take to camp life. One would think they had 
spent most of their days in just such a place as 
this, with a canvas for shelter. They seem to be- 
long to all out-of-doors; all out-of-doors seems to 
belong to them. 

The fellow^s in the next tent to mine sleep under 
the canvas at night; but at any time after day- 
break it's not much that can happen without their 
knowledge. If they hear a noise outside their tent, 
they do not get up and go to the end of the tent to 
look out; up goes the canvas wall, and there you 
have it — a long row of heads, each curious to know 
"what's up." They don't get up very early — the 
boys don't. The tent has a charm for a fellow, 
and he lingers in it often till breakfast is ready, 
and even after that, a boy is often found in tent 
reading or sleeping when the shade of a tree would 
seem to be so much better, and the heat and light 
under the close canvas is almost unendurable. The 
other day I came near a tent, and made a discovery. 
The tallest, or at least the longest boy in camp, 
probably, had his feet out one side the tent, and 
his head out at another. There he lay, reading; 
anyway, that's the way it looked, but I send you a 
photograph so you will understand. An old man 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 205 

who saw the fellow, said, "that boy looked dret- 
fuUy long." 

We had clams for dinner today. 

From your friend on the clam flats. 

Dear Good Will Record: 

At the Punch Bowl one easily gets the impres- 
sion that he is on an island. In fact, it was in my 
thought to write a little about the natural history of 
the island; then it occurred to me that we were on 
the mainland. I am glad we came to the sea shore 
this summer, for the boys are confronted with a 
multitude of new forms of life. The sea urchins, 
starfish, barnacles, limpets, snails, crabs, clams, as 
well as the various kinds of fish caught with hook 
and line, are full of interest. At least one of the 
party had never extracted a clam from its shells 
until he sat down to a meal of the bivalves here in 
camp. It's a great place for clams. I've been dig- 
ging after them several times, and never saw them 
so thick anywhere. When I was a boy, if there 
came a heavy rain in the haying season, or in the 
hoeing time, and the clearing off was early in the 
day, the soil being too wet for the hoe, and the 
hay unfit to handle, father would take Beckwith's 
Almanac from the nail in the kitchen — the nail on 
which nothing but the almanac was ever hung, and 
say: 

"Boys, if the tide's right you may go clamming 
today." 



206 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

A brief consultation usually resulted in assurance 
that the tide permitted such a trip, and we would 
soon be on our way to Great Harbor or Sachem's 
Head. There was not much poetry in clam dig- 
ging, in those days, but we were willing to dig a 
half bushel of them, for the sake of getting to the 
seashore. It was the price we had to pay for the 
outing. 

Clam digging today on Eggemoggin Reach differs 
not from the clam digging of thirty years ago on 
Long Island Sound, in Connecticut, but it arouses 
different sentiments. The very first clam I pick 
out of its muddy environment brings up the days 
of boyhood, and I have a vision of the old farm 
horse, the drive through the village, the shore of 
the Sound, and Falkland Island in the midst of the 
bright waters. There's a trifle more poetry in clam 
digging today than there was then, but even now, 
the poetical element is not strong. It is not true 
fishing, anyway. But the clams themselves! You 
should see them disappear at dinner time, and the 
pile of shells that remain alone to tell the story. 

Next to the festive clam, in the affection of the 
boys, is the flounder. This is because he can be 
captured in sufficient numbers to supply the table. 
The Punch Bowl yields a lot of them. Other bays 
and coves offer equally good fishing. One needs to 
know where to go, and then he needs a lot of pa- 
tience in order to use proper language, when three 
out of four of his hauls prove to be sculpins. Why 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 207 

some boys catch sculpins chiefly, and others in the 
same boat catch flounders, has not been fully ex- 
plained. Last night Harry and I were fishing in a 
cove off little Deer Isle, when a resident on the 
Island, who had been out after driftwood, came 
alongside. As he passed us he said: "What be 
you fishing for?" to which I replied: "Flounders." 
"You're too far out, neighbor," he said, "Get 
nearer the shore." I thanked him, and asked if 
there was any way of catching flounders without 
catching sculpin. He told us, if we'd catch all the 
sculpins there are in the sea first, then we'd have 
clear flounder fishing. Roberts is of the opinion 
that he has caught nearly all the sculpins; anyway, 
after his continued luck with them, he don't see 
how there can be many left in the sea. While 
Kimball was taking a sculpin off his hook, he said 
to the fisherman who had advised us to change our 
location: "Say, did you ever see a horn-pout?" 
"Yes, sir," the fisherman replied, "that is a 
horn-pout you have in your hand." That's one 
more name for the grotesque fish which so annoys 
the fellows when after flounders. Poor sculpin! 
He has already been referred to by our boys as the 
sculpin, scalpin, scorpin, and scallawag; and now 
we are told he is a horn-pout! It is good illus- 
tration of the value of scientific nomenclature, for 
if you say "horn-pout" to our boys and the lake 
fishers they understand you mean the "miller's- 
thumb" or "bull-head," but the salt water fisher- 



208 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

man understands you mean thesculpin. Last night 
as Harry hauled in his seventh sculpin he exclaimed, 
"Hang those tormented old sculps. I'd like to 
smash the whole of them." I've asked Harry to 
eliminate three words from his vocabulary: they 
are "Hang," "Old," and "Tormented." He man- 
ages lately to get all these words into many of his 
sentences. 

The time for our departure from this spot is near. 
We have done our last rowing, caught our last fish, 
had our last swim. There is a thick fog every- 
where — not an unusual condition at the seashore. 
After supper tonight we gathered about the open 
fire, and in the gathering darkness, a trio of lusty 
voices sang this song, to the tune of "It was my 
last cigar," and the boys joined in the chorus: 

"For thirteen happy, fleeting days 
At Eggemoggin Reach 
We've slept beneath the canvas tents 
And sauntered on the beach. 

Chorus. 

We're going to leave our camp. 

We're going to leave our camp, 
The fog has covered up the sea. 
We're going to leave our camp. 
We've listened to the noises 

Where the boys slept in a row, 
And heard the riot die away. 
To breathings soft and low. 

Chorus. 



LETTERS FROM A CAMP BY THE SEA 209 

We've heard some awful noises too, 

But they are ended now; 
Where naughty boys within their tent, 

Stayed in a mighty row. 

Chorus. 

We've smiled at Kimball's vain attempt 

To hook the wily cod 
While Holmes was catching flounders 

Without a reel or rod. 

Chorus. 

We've learned with unfeigned gratitude 

That Dunn has learned to swim; 
And only wish that Roberts, too. 

Had boldly waded in." 

Chorus. 

We leave here in the morning. 
Yours in a fog bank, 



IS 



VIII 

MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 

A man was going on a camping trip with some 
Good Will boys — the thirteenth trip of the kind. 
Every superstitious person knows what misfortunes 
cling, or are supposed to cling, to that number. It 
would seem a foregone conclusion that the thirteenth 
excursion of a given kind would be a gross failure 
at best. He was going to Greenville, Maine, on 
the shores of Moosehead Lake, and thence three 
miles through woods to Lower Wilson Pond, thence 
across the pond to camp "Idlewild," where the 
party was to occupy the cottage by that name, and 
a tent. The ladies — a mother and her two daugh- 
ters — were to occupy the cottage, and the rest were 
to occupy the tent. The cooking was to be done 
in the cottage ; Roberts and Chisholm were to cook. 
In the party was a Harvard student — a young man 
who sang Harvard songs at the expense of "Old 
Yale," and played Harvard airs on his mandolin 
till the entire party was more (or less) enthusiastic 
for Harvard. Someone has longed to write the 
songs of a nation : he who writes "catchy " songs for 
a college is a more potent factor In its life than some 
of us imagine. Let this young Harvard enthusiast 
be called "Crimson." 

210 



MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 211 

There were several high school boys in the party, 
one of whom has such a predilection for punning 
that he can best be designated as "Baby Punster." 
He was the small boy of the party. 

It was the plan to reach Greenville at noon and 
have the full afternoon to get to camp and settle. 
To do this they must arise at an early hour; take 
teams six miles to Benton Station, and get there in 
time to take the 7.05 train to the east. There were 
twelve in the party when we left Good Will, and 
one more — a young student — was added at Ben- 
ton. We had been waiting at the station possibly 
five minutes, when two discoveries were made by 
the boys. First, they had come away in such 
haste that they had left fish rods at home: second, 
the train they had got up so early to meet would 
not connect with the train at Foxcroft for Green- 
ville. They would therefore get to their destina- 
tion the same moment they would if they had staid 
at home till the 1.05 P. M. train. They therefore 
had before them the prospects of a five hours' wait 
at Foxcroft. How cheering! Yet what else could 
one expect on his thirteenth trip of the kind? 

Only a few years ago, crossing the Atlantic, the 
man had been told there was some one on board 
who was making his thirteenth trip across the 
ocean. It was undesrtood at once that some dis- 
aster would overtake the passengers; and on that 
very trip the ship was on fire for five long hours. 
What else could be expected? 



212 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Jumbo was delegated to return home for the 
fish rods; and soon after he returned the train 
arrived. It brought the last member of the party, 
and there had been twelve. 

"I shall hoo-doo the whole thing" he said, "I 
am number thirteen." 

The thirteenth trip; thirteen in the party! But 
if they were going to Greenville again they would 
want to do just what they stumbled into doing 
that day, they would take that delightful morning 
ride from Good Will to Benton Station, stop off at 
Newport, spend four hours on Lake Sebasticook, 
catch all the white perch they could; dine at the 
Shaw House, and take the 2.35 P. M. train for 
Moosehead Lake and arrive there at 5.05. Its the 
happiest way to do; they found it so. 

There seemed to be one disadvantage, however, 
in arriving so late. At Foxcroft the stop was so 
short that our baggage which had been checked to 
that station — thirteen pieces — could not be re- 
checked in time for the train, and they had to go 
on without it. Thus it happened that the ladies 
stopped at Gerrish's over night while the rest went 
over the pond to the cottage. This gave the ladies 
a quiet night of rest before going into camp; it 
gave the others a night at Idlewild with all the 
freedom that boys like the first night in the woods. 
The next day the baggage came and the ladies 
arrived in camp, leaving their hats at Gerrish's. 
Ordinarily this would have been a wise thing for 



MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 213 

them to do; but two mornings later when Crim- 
son and "No. 13" returned from Gerrish's with 
milk they told how the Gerrish house had burned 
to the ground in the night, and the ladies' hats 
had been consumed in the conflagration. "Didn't 
I tell you? "said the last one who had joined the 
party, "Didn't I tell you I was No. 13? Who 
knows what will happen next?" 

It did look as though they were fated to petty 
evils ; but when two days later they learned that in 
some unaccountable way the ladies' hats had been 
saved though practically everything else in the 
house had been burned, the props seemed to be 
knocked out from under the " thirteen " theory of 
disaster. But they still had No. 13 with them. 

The Moosehead Lake region is beautiful. The 
most beautiful part of it includes Upper Wilson 
and Lower Wilson ponds. The camp was on the 
shore of the latter. From that point delightful 
trips can be made to interesting sections. A three 
mile buckboard ride takes one to the steamboat 
wharf at Greenville for a sail up the great lake. A 
mountain walk of twenty minutes from Lower 
Wilson brings one to Rum Pond — a pond whose 
trout rise to the fly, are reasonably ready to strike, 
but are neither large nor gamey. 

Twelve minutes' walk from Lower Wilson, but in 
another direction, one arrives at Upper Wilson, the 
most picturesque of all the ponds in this vicinity. 
The fishing here is like that in Lower Wilson — not 



214 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the best by any means, but the trout are large and 
lively. The only one the writer saw taken from 
either of the Wilson ponds was served at dinner in 
camp the second day — a fish lacking a little of 
being a four pounder. But if one does not catch 
a fish, a glimpse of the scenery amply repays one 
for his trip. 

From Upper Wilson an interesting trip lies along 
the carry to Mountain Pond. There are no cot- 
tages or boats at this sheet of water except boats 
or canoes which parties take in for their own use. 
One should allow two hours for the tramp from 
Upper Wilson to Mountain Pond. The carry is 
through marshy places, up the steep mountain side 
several hundred feet, over sections of abandoned 
corduroy lumber roads and around Fogg Pond, in 
which there are no fish. It would prove to be a 
rather hard trip for an old man, impossible for the 
majority of ladies, but it is an ideal trip for boys 
who have any grit in them. 

Having "done" Moosehead Lake, Rum Pond, 
Upper Wilson and Lower Wilson, Mountain Pond 
was next in order. A professional guide — some 
one who had a larger knowledge of the mountain 
path than the man with the boys who is himself a 
licensed guide — seemed desirable. The man ac- 
knowledged that his license did not insure the party 
against getting lost anywhere in the wilderness 
round about. Jacob Drew was chosen guide. 
"Jake" is equal to any task one may assign him 



MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 215 

about this region. Whether it was due to the 
rarified atmosphere of the mountain side as the 
boys cHmbed, or to some other cause the punning 
fever reached its height on this trip, and "Baby 
Punster" was all the time happy. 

The three ladies remained in camp, Roberts, 
Kelly, Chisholm and Eccles staying as a kind of 
body guard, and to keep camp. The rest made up 
the party and in it were included Crimson, 
Baby Punster, No. 13, the man, with the boys 
and Jake. This resulted in two licensed guides 
in the party, but they were soon designated as the 
guide, and the guide; emphasis on that little word 
expressing the boys' relacive confidence in Jake 
as compared with the other. Crimson called at- 
tention to the way in which some of the party had 
been guying the guide, and suggested that the two 
men might be appropriately designated as "the 
guide," and the "guyed guide." This stroke had 
a dispiriting effect on the man with the boys, but 
delighted Baby Punster. 

Everybody knows the evil which superstition 
sees in spilled salt. It was plain that the trip 
would be a quarrel from the start, when Jake, the 
guide, in packing provisions into the canoe acci- 
dently broke the salt package and upset every 
particle of it — a quart at least upon the landing. 
What an omen of quarrels and bickerings and 
No. 13 was with them. To make matters the- 
oretically and super stitiously worse, the entire salt 



2l6 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

supply was again spilled on the ground soon after 
reaching Mountain Pond. 

Leaving the boat and canoe on the beach near 
the Baker Cottage they started into the wilderness. 
They had gone but a short distance when Jake had 
to return for the axe which had been left at the 
landing. Crimson was not sure whether this was 
an "ax-ident" or the result of deliberate "ax-tion." 
At this Baby Punster whooped with joy. The 
party wanted to go through the woods quietly and 
if possible see deer and moose, for they were in the 
home of big game. 

"Deer me," exclaimed Baby Punster, with a 
dejected air as the party trudged quietly along the 
rough path, " I do hope we can see a deer or a moose. 
I suppose it would be 'a-mooseing' to see some deer ; 
but I suppose for the 'moosepart' that" — but 
Crimson interrupted him and declared that such 
rotten punning ought to be "punished" and that 
no punishment was too severe. 

The boys supposed they were to sleep out — that 
is, to open their blankets under a tree, turn their 
feet toward a camp fire and go to sleep if they could, 
for the man with them had neglected to state that 
Jake had a tent all pitched at Mountain Pond, and 
ready for them. They were happily surprised, 
therefore, when they saw the canvas and were told 
that it was for them. It was lucky, too, that the 
tent was there, for it was the coldest night of the 
season. 



MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 217 

While Jake made ready for a big camp fire the 
man with the boys, and Baby Punster were sent in 
a canoe over to an old boat which, because of holes 
in the bottom, had been placed on a raft by Jake 
a few days before. The raft supported this rem- 
nant of a boat in such a manner that with two per- 
sons only in it, the boat would not take more than 
two inches of water. It was too cold and windy to 
fish long, but enough were caught to afford fried 
trout for all. The man sat in one end of the old 
boat which was floating on the raft. Baby Punster 
sat in the other end. The fish began to nibble — 
that is they nibbled at Baby Punster's hook, and 
they got caught. One by one they began to land 
in the boat. He and the man would drop their 
baited hooks within two feet of each other; the man 
would have a nibble, then Baby Punster would pull 
in a fish. Nine trout — beautiful specimens — did 
Baby Punster pull in as they sat there in that old 
craft. All the man got was thirteen nibbles — little 
nibbles at that. Thus does a hook baited by a 
freckled faced boy have special fascination for the 
average fish; for there sat Baby Punster, freckled 
and noisy, on whose head a cap had not rested for 
a week, and around his hook did the fish gather and 
fool to their own destruction. 

It was too cold to fish long, and at sunset every- 
body was in camp; Jake had a rousing fire just in 
front of it — a fire which the fitful wind fanned and 
whisked in every conceivable direction. The smoke 



2l8 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

was blown into the open tent in clouds; the boys 
who were in there wiped tears from their eyes. 
The sparks alighted on a pair of blankets which had 
not been unrolled and which were just outside the 
tent. Good sized holes were burned before they 
were discovered. It was then decided that the 
fire must be moved further from the tent. It was 
done; the hot stones where the fire had been, gave 
out an agreeable warmth which Jumbo and Blake 
soon discovered. They sat on these hot stones so 
as to get over the chills they had experienced. 

Everything went well at first; but Blake had a 
bunch of matches in his hip pocket. The heat 
from a big stone proved too much for them. 

"Seems as though I smell brimstone" said 
Blake. 

Jumbo sensed the situation but was silent. A 
moment later Blake comprehended his predicament. 
It was curious the way Blake woke up. There's 
hardly anything that will make a fellow move more 
lively than a good sized fire in his hip pocket. 

But how the boys slept that night! The next 
morning was cold and clear. The man and Baby 
Punster went again to the old boat. It was the 
thirteenth day of August, the thirteenth trip and 
there were thirteen in the party. Something was 
sure to happen. 

The man and Baby Punster began to catch 
trout. Crimson and No. 13 were fishing on 
the shore. The man saw Crimson attempt to 



MY THIRTEENTH TRIP 219 

step from one rock to another. He slipped, ex- 
tended his arm frantically and went head fore- 
most into the water. For an instant there was 
no movement. The man had time to conclude 
that Crimson's head had struck a rock— that he 
was either killed instantly or stunned. If only 
stunned, his position with head in the water and 
feet on the rocks would mean death. 

"Something has happened to Crimson" ex- 
claimed the man who was with Baby Punster. 
Just then Crimson's form rose from the water. 
"Are you hurt Crimson?" 

"Not much" he shouted back; "but I'm wet." 
Then he took off all his clothing and spread it on 
the rocks to dry in the sun; and wrapped himself 
in the blanket which he had been using as a pro- 
tection from the wind. He was not much hurt 
though his knees were bruised some. 

In telling Baby Punster of it, Crimson said "My 
knees are lame, and it will not be *a-kneesy' 
thing for me to walk back to camp. I may 'kneed' 
help." This remark received Baby Punster's 
unqualified approval. 

While Crimson was drying off in the sun, and 
Number Thirteen was occasionally landing a trout 
on shore. Baby Punster and the man were having 
great success in the old boat. Baby Punster had 
caught twelve fish; then there came a pause. 
There were no fish ; there were no nibbles. As near 



220 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

as they could estimate they sat in silence thirteen 
minutes. 

Then there was a twitch at Baby Punster's line 
— a cry of excitement from his lips — a splash of 
water — a short struggle — a flash of color, and the 
thirteenth fish lay glistening in the boat. It was 
the largest, handsomest fish caught on the trip. 

And after all the trip was much like others. It 
is true that it was the thirteenth — and the best of 
all. There were thirteen in the party, and No. 13 
proved to be a royal good fellow; the thirteenth 
fish was the finest caught; and the thirteenth day 
of August was the banner day. Taken all in all, 
if the writer could do it he would like to make his 
thirteenth trip over again, and if he could do so he 
would take No. 13 along, and would bank on the 
thirteenth day. 



IX 

THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 

This year my party numbered fourteen souls 
against thirteen a year ago. It was much like the 
former party for "Crimson" and "Baby Punster" 
were along; but ''Tom" was a stranger, and the 
" Tarentumite " — a lover of the woods and lakes 
and a frequent comrade in my former camps had 
not before been to Moosehead Lake. He had a 
cottage and a tent — this, too, is an ideal arrange- 
ment for there are those who are as ill at ease under 
a canvas as I am under a shingled roof if there is a 
tent near by. Some of the party preferred "Idle- 
wild ' ' — the cottage secured for our use — as a sleep- 
ing place; but neither Jumbo, Tom, Crimson, 
McDonald nor myself had any use for other lodg- 
ings than those afforded by the tent with its soft 
light by day and its wax candle by night ; its odor of 
grass and bunch-berry and mother earth ; its abso- 
lute silence in the wee hours except as the breezes 
from off the lake would gently lift the unfastened 
walls or sway the open flap. Surely we had no 
quarrel with the Tarentumite, Baby Punster, Kim- 
ball and any others who willingly deprived them- 
selves of the joy of the tent on the hill; but what 
are the woods for if not to be enjoyed in the open 

221 



522 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

and when is the forest at its best if not in the 
silence of the night? 

In one respect the spirit of my party had changed 
since we arrived at "Idlewild," in 1902. At that 
time few of us had ever seen a Hve hedgehog. 
These creatures were interesting. We wanted to 
see them, and, having seen them we wished we 
might see a hedgepig — diminutive of hedgehog (?). 
When we met a hedgehog in the woods we watched 
him curiously and passed him or let him pass. 
The prints of their teeth on the two inch plank at 
our boat landing where they gnawed off the entire 
end of the planks in order to get what salt or grease, 
as we supposed, had given taste to the wood, were 
studied. But on the very last night Blake left his 
shoes on the veranda and the next morning dis- 
covered that one of these uncouth neighbors had 
gnawed the uppers leaving the lining, the soles, 
heels, shoe strings and eyelets. It was too late to 
seek an interview with the marauder that year, 
but when the party arrived this time, though Blake 
was not with it, there was enmity to the hedgehog 
and all his kin, and this, too, by common consent. 

This explains the suddenness with which the 
ladies in Idlewild were awakened the first morn- 
ing in the woods this year by the discharge of a 
revolver directly under the floor and the sound of 
half suppressed excitement over the slaying of the 
first hedgehog. This explains, too, the visit of the 
Tarentumite and earnest sympathizers to the ruins 



THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 2:25 

of a farm house in the rear of the cottage and tent 
— a rickety old building which has been head- 
quarters for hedgehogs for years until floors and 
stairways have been nibbled and gnawed in a 
wonderful way — and their solemn vigil waiting for 
the spiny creatures to come out from under the 
house, while the hunted as solemnly waited for the 
hunters to retire or the moon to set, both of which 
things came to pass before there was any excite- 
ment; it also explains the thrilling time when a 
hedgehog was finally discovered one morning, just 
after day break on the back steps of " Idlewild" — 
a hedgehog that hesitated not to climb a tree while 
Tom and Sam were slaying its mate. But aside 
from this enmity against these ungainly creatures 
that leave their cruel spines about so carelessly 
(Sam found one of these spines in his nose between 
his eyes) — a more peaceful or happier party never 
visited the shores of Wilson Pond. 

It should be recorded and kept in mind that an 
ideal spot for camping has not been selected unless 
it affords opportunity for side trips. If there is a 
village within three or five miles of camp some of 
the boys will want to visit it again and again, no 
matter how sleepy and forlorn the village may be, 
unless there are chances to satisfy the exploiting 
spirit in some other way. Wilson Pond offers 
side trips. 

Rum Mountain is less than two miles away 
by boat or canoe. Weeks before we made the trip 



224 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

I promised Tom that he should have a sleeping out 
experience. He was from out the state, but I am 
a registered guide and we would surely go together 
into the depths and taste the joys of a tentless trip. 
After reaching Rum Pond and making a brief stay 
for fly-fishing, we decided to go up some afternoon, 
take in the fly-fishing at sunset, sleep somewhere on 
the shore of the pond and try the early morning 
fishing with the fly again. Crimson wanted to 
go ; so did Kimball and the Tarentumite ; but had I 
not promised Tom that we would make the trip by 
ourselves? I assured these fellows that they could 
go with us, fish on the same pond and sleep in the 
same forest ; but while Tom and I could fry our fish 
in a small pan and make our coffee in a small pot, 
to add three to our party would change the entire 
aspect of the trip. We did not care to help build 
a hotel for five, or to open a restaurant for the same 
number ; we should therefore look out for ourselves 
and they might do the same. 

This was satisfactory to all. We made the trip 
from Idlewild to the foot of Rum Mountain in the 
same canoe; but on Rum Pond we separated. It 
rained before we reached the pond. Tom and I 
went ashore and made preparations for the night. 
We built a lean-to or bower or something of the 
kind and only regretted that all our friends every- 
where could not see it; we caught fish and fried 
them ; made coffee and drank it and wondered how 
the other fellows were making it. 



THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 225 

It rained. Just as we were landing at our shore 
for the last time before turning in for the night 
Crimson arrived. He had previously shouted to 
us on the pond asking if we had a spare candle in 
camp. He had come for the candle. We showed 
him our camp-fire; our protection of evergreen 
boughs; our bed for the night — a thing of indescrib- 
able attractiveness. Crimson was pleased with 
it all. He sat down on the bed close to where Tom 
had laid his revolver, which he had been wiping with 
his handkerchief. Crimson reached out to the foot 
of the bed and helped himself to some hard-tack — 
a part of our slender provisions for breakfast; then 
he took some more and some more. Tom cast 
anxious glances at me ; but really it would not do to 
tell Crimson that our supplies were limited, for had 
we not assured Crimson that we were beautifully 
fixed and only wished that other fellows had things 
as well arranged. At last to our great relief Crim- 
son said "good night" and we were alone. 

It rained. Already it was late in the evening 
and for the sake of an early start in the morning we 
decided to retire. Absolute silence reigned in the 
woods except such noises as were made by the 
rain on the leaves, the pond, the frying-pan and the 
thick but by no means water-proof roof of boughs. 

"Is your revolver loaded?" I said to Tom as we 
were taking all precautions for the night. 

"That's the trouble," said Tom, "I can't find 
it." 

16 



226 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"Can't find the revolver," I said with some 
anxiety, "We are in a pretty fix." 

Then a search followed. There was no breeze 
to make the flame of a candle even flicker, and by 
the aid of it we hunted from our bed to the fire- 
place and back again, then under our bed of boughs, 
and over it and all about it. 

"I can't imagine what became of it," said Tom, 
"unless Crimson swiped it?" 

"He would have no reason for that," I ventured, 
"and I hardly credit it." 

Still another search and then we decided that 
armless and defenceless we must bivouac in the 
woods. 

It rained. We extinguished the flamiC of the little 
wax taper and listened to the rain drops and to the 
dripping of the roof upon our blankets. We were a 
long way from home — there was no mistake about 
that — and we were in the dark; in the woods; in the 
wet; in solitude profound; in a revolverless and 
defenceless condition. Where was that revolver 
anyway? 

I was glad Tom slept, and when at last I heard 
his measured breathing I felt that I had a right to 
sleep myself — if I could. 

I was awakened by some unusual heavy drops 
coming through the roof and striking in my ear. 
In attempting to move "out from under," I dis- 
turbed Tom. It was pleasant to know that he was 
there; it re-assured me to hear him speak my name. 



THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 227 

"What?" I said. 

"Are you going to take this path or are you going 
around the pond ? I mean around the pond to the 
camp. Of course I don't mean home." 

It rained. I was in the woods. It was night. 
I said in my heart, "This is lonesome, fearfully 
lonesome. I'd rather Tom wouldn't talk than to 
talk like that." 

The night wore on; the dripping through the 
roof increased and I had to turn out once more. 
This startled my comrade. 

"Late of Harvard College but sent home on 
account of his fishing," he said speaking very 
deliberately. 

"What's that?" I asked as that peculiar forlorn 
feeling again stole over me. 

" I said," replied Tom with a show of impatience, 
" Late of Harvard College but sent home on account 
of his fishing. ' ' Then he added timidly, ' ' I intended 
it for a joke but I don't think 'twas very funny; 
jokes don't go well in a wet time like this anyway." 

I pulled the wet blanket a little closer to me as 
an unusually big drop through the boughs over 
head fell into my eye, and said in my heart: 

"This is lonesome; fearfully and gruesomely 
lonesome. 'Twould be kind of lonesome like for 
two of us anyway; but to have the other fellow 
talking that way makes a man feel that he can't 
count on much." 

It rained. I lay under the blankets and noted 



228 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the steady dripping of the rain through the boughs 
and felt the progress of the accumulated rain as it 
crept along on the under blanket. I also wondered 
what had become of the revolver. 

But nights end ; there is always a dawning even 
though it be long in coming. 

I reviewed the night with Tom and learned that 
he sometimes talked in his sleep ; he surely did that 
night. With the break of day we arose and pre- 
pared our morning meal. Then we started out in 
the boat to find the other fellows. Our search was 
fruitless and our shouts were unanswered. Con- 
cluding that they had left in the night we broke 
camp and rowed toward the outlet of the pond. 
As we drew near the landing we saw strange forms 
— the forms of three drenched fellows wrapped in 
blankets who had taken refuge in a lumberman's 
camp. They were Crimson, Kimball and the 
Tarentumite. Our first inquiry was for the revol- 
ver; the first reply was a confession from Crimson 
that he had taken it just as we suspected. It was 
their plan to visit the woods near our camp in the 
night and by prowling around give Tom and me 
some blood-curdling experiences. They did not 
dare do this so long as we had a revolver in camp 
lest we fire it and hurt someone. Hence Crimson's 
mock errand after a candle and the subsequent dis- 
appearance of our only firearm; but it rained too 
hard and Tom and I were spared. 



THE YEAR AFTER THE THIRTEENTH 229 

How the trout did take the fly that day, and on 
the whole it was a fine side trip. 

It is autumn now. As I write I look through 
the frost, the snow and the sleet of the coming 
winter and beyond it all I see the fleecy clouds, the 
glinted waves, the foliage clad mountains of another 
summer vacation; and if I go again I would like 
the same company — the same ladies at Idlewild 
and the same boys, Crimson and Baby Punster, 
Kimball and the Tarentumite, Tom, Sam, and the 
rest. It's fun to camp out. 



AT PLEASANT POND 

Early in the spring of 191 2 I began to speak 
occasionally of a probable hike with the boys, which 
was planned to take place soon after the close of 
the spring term of the Good Will Schools, and one 
morning early in May I posted the following: 

Notice. 
Any boys fourteen years old or older, who are eligible and 
would like to be invited to go on a thirty-five mile hike and 
return, are requested to hand their names, written with ink, 
into the office before six o'clock Tuesday evening. 

(Signed.) 

Before two o'clock that day twenty-eight names 
had been passed into the office: "Would like to go 
on the hike," "A candidate for the hike," "Hope 
to be invited to go on the hike," and other expres- 
sions preceded the signature on the various slips, 
and before six o'clock Tuesday evening more than 
twenty more had been added. 

All the boys understood that "eligible" meant 
that a boy must be at liberty to leave the farm; 
that he must have walked at least twenty miles 
on some previous occasion; and it happened that 
several boys who had been present on other hikes 
were restricted in the liberties as a matter of dis- 
230 



AT PLEASANT POND 23I 

cipllne for a few weeks, and consequently were 
debarred. They were not "eligible." 

It was almost time for the hike, if there were to 
be one, when the above decision was reached. A 
telephone conference, an auto trip to Pleasant Pond 
fifty-six miles north of Good Will to confer about 
accommodations, and I was ready for a meeting of 
the candidates. It was held on the steps of the 
Quincy; the thirty-four eligibles who had in the 
meantime been invited were present. 

I announced that the hike was to be to Pleasant 
Pond ; that the distance was too great for a single 
day, and as my real object this time was not to test 
the walking powers, an arrangement had been made 
which would result in an easy tramp after all. It 
was enough for me to know that each and every 
one of the thirty-four could walk thirty-five miles 
a day, and that each and every one expected to do 
it. I explained that the route would be nine miles 
to Skowhegan, fourteen miles by trolley from 
Skowhegan to Madison, thirty miles by steam cars 
from Madison to Bingham, fifteen on foot from 
Bingham to Carratunk and three and a half from 
Carratunk to the Camps; but as the route from 
Carratunk to the Pond was all up hill the last 
three and a half miles would seem like seven at 
least. 

It was a question as to the nine miles at the begin- 
ning — Good Will to Skowhegan — and if the first 
boy, when the roll was called had answered "W" 



232 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

to his name, which meant he would walk, probably 
the next would have given the same answer and the 
majority would have followed. But he answered 
"T" and "T" meant he would take the train to 
Skowhegan, cutting off nine miles; and the next 
one said "T" also, and only six, including Scott, 
the leader, voted for the longest hike which the 
plan allowed, the first nine miles to be covered 
before 7.30 o'clock in the morning. 

It was at this same meeting that I gave all the 
instructions that seemed necessary, and these were 
positive. The negative form was avoided; in 
other words there was not a "Don't" in the entire 
list of suggestions. 

"While the hike is not to be as long as usual, 
see to it that your shoes fit and that you have shoes 
with good stiff soles." 

"After leaving Bingham you will walk miles at 
a time without passing a house but you will pass 
springs and watering troughs. If you must drink 
use your paper drinking cups carried for the pur- 
pose." 

"Cheer as much as you choose, sing when you 
feel like it, attract as much attention as you wish, 
and be courteous and gentlemanly always," and 
the like were put before the boys. 

It might have been easier to say: "Don't drink 
from watering troughs or public cups; don't wear 
sneakers; don't act like rowdies or suggest hood- 
lumism," and these would have been more direct, 



AT PLEASANT POND 233 

but some people have a suspicion that there is a 
limit beyond which the "Don't" racket becomes 
hateful. A holiday loaded down with don'ts is a 
holiday of burdens. 

While the meeting was in progress I thought of 
the thrilling things which are always happening in 
fictitious camps; I thought of all the uneventful 
camps and hikes I have directed in my lifetime, and, 
notwithstanding the fact that the less eventful a 
real camp is, the more enjoyable it is bound to be, 
I said in closing: 

" I hope something will happen." 



The morning for the start proved to be fairly 
good. There was a haze, and in some directions 
appeared suggestions of rain, but it was predicted 
that these signs would "burn off" as the sun rose 
and they did. When the auto stopped for me in 
front of my home, Thoroughgood and MacVeigh, 
on the back seat, seemed to be stored away with 
bags, bundles and suit-cases, half hidden as they 
were with these things. 

On all previous trips of the kind, each boy was 
provided with full change of clothing and these 
extras had always been shipped in advance. But 
for this trip it had been directed that the outer suit 
worn should serve all purposes; that as to under- 
wear, if a boy was careful and used the pond for a 
laundry tub occasionally, he could keep one suit 



234 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

clean and in good condition for the return trip. 
This arrangement resulted, not in a big shipment 
of clothing by rail and stage, but in various bags 
and bundles crammed with towels, under-clothing 
and other necessities packed into the automobile. 

Thorough good and MacVeigh, or two other 
hikers, were necessary to get things in readiness in 
the camps and cottages. The rest of the hikers 
were expected to arrive at Pleasant Pond between 
5.30 and 6.00 P. M.; they would be ready for a 
supper which would be served thirty minutes after 
they arrived, but, because of the arrangements for 
this particular party, it would be no small task to 
get things ready. 

Headquarters were to be two of Martin's cot- 
tages, close to the water's edge and not far from 
Martin's Hotel. Combers Cottage was half a mile 
— more or less — to the north of headquarters, and 
the Rogan Camps and the Huse Camp were at 
least half a mile in the opposite direction. The 
party therefore was to be scattered for more than 
a mile; there were to be three kitchens in opera- 
tion, and meals served in three places, viz.: at 
Combers Cottage, at headquarters, at Huse's Cot- 
tage. MacVeigh and Thoroughgood could get 
ready easily if they had a good chance; we would 
reach the Pond at twelve and all would be in readi- 
ness when the hikers arrived. That was the plan. 

We passed Scott and those who had voted " W" 
instead of "T" half way to Skowhegan; all was 



AT PLEASANT POND 235 

going well but I expressed a hope that something 
would happen. I did not want an accident, nor 
anything that would mar the enjoyment of any 
hiker, but camps outside of fiction are likely to be 
just enjoyable, happy experiences without any 
thrills. 

At Skowhegan there were clouds; at Madison it 
was fair ; at Bingham the sun shone hot, and we who 
were in the auto said that it was a perfect day for 
the boys aside from the fact that it would be a 
little warm tramping up the valley. 

We arrived at Martin's before eleven o'clock, 
and, because in the last half hour dark clouds had 
appeared, which threatened to travel down the 
Kennebec Valley, the auto and its owner started on 
the return trip. 

As soon as our dunnage was transferred to the 
cottages on the shore of Pleasant Pond a few rods 
beyond Martin's, and Thorough good and Mac- 
Veigh had inspected headquarters, I said: 

"I'll go down to Rogan's, open up the Huse 
Cottage and be back soon. MacVeigh will be ready 
to go to the Huse Cottage as soon as the groceries 
are ready. You two boys take this list of groceries 
and hasten up to Martin's — up to the house back 
there which we just passed — and tell Mr. Martin 
you will bring the groceries down. Have everything 
here when I get back; Mr. Martin carries all 
things in our line. It's mighty handy to have our 
supplies so near," 



236 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Thoroughgood and MacVeigh were willing mes- 
sengers; they started for Mr. Martin's, who makes 
no pretense of running a grocery store, but who 
keeps certain things on hand for parties who may 
need them. 

And I wandered through the woods to Rogan's, 
opened the Huse Cottage where MacVeigh was to 
cook, and returned in a boat. 

"It's all a fake," said MacVeigh, as he and 
Thoroughgood stood on the steps of headquarters 
and welcomed me back, "it's all a fake. That man 
hasn't got the groceries; and said he would have 
to go out to Carratunk after them if we want them 
and to let him know." 

"What!" I exclaimed, "and you haven't brought 
any groceries back?" 

"Not a thing," said MacVeigh, "Oh yes, we did, 
too; we brought the salt you ordered but nothing 
else." 

It began to rain. 

We listened in silence to the sound of the wet; 
to innumerable drops that tinkled on the surface 
of the pond ; to other drops that fell in multitudes 
on the roof. 

"I'll have to go up to Martin's," I said. 

"Something's happened all right," muttered 
Thoroughgood. "You hoped something would 
happen." 

"Yes," I acknowledged, "I did hope something 
would happen, but I didn't mean that I wanted the 



AT PLEASANT POND 237 

boys wet to their skin, and I didn't mean that I 
wanted them to reach camp and find us in a state 
of famine. This is different; I meant that I 
wanted something interesting, something exciting, 
while this is just famine and rain. Are you sure 
you got the salt?" 

"Sure; it's in the back room, and I guess there's 
a quart of it; it's in a box." 

' * See here boys ; I ' ve sometimes had short rations 
in camp, and had little scares lest we get out of food 
entirely, but this is the first time that I started that 
way. Here I go to Martin's." 

A trip through the rain to Martin's and back! 

"He's after the provisions," I reported, "but no 
one knows how long he will be gone. It's two 
o'clock now. Somewhere down the river a party 
of over thirty is tramping through this rain — did 
you ever see it rain harder? — and every minute 
brings them nearer this spot, where they will 
arrive before six, wet to the skin, hungry as bears, 
and tired and footsore. What shall I do? " 

"You may search me," said Thoroughgood 
laconically. 

"The only thing I could do if they should arrive 
now," I replied, "would be to pass them the salt. 
What do you think of that? " 

"I guess something's going to happen," said one 
of the boys — a remark which had little comfort 
for me. 

It continued to rain. Dense clouds hung over 



238 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the mountains and seemed to droop lower and 
lower till one could see only a few feet above the 
line of the water on the opposite side of the pond, 
where the shore rises precipitously ; rivulets formed 
near the cottage and ran, thick and muddy into 
the clear water of the pond; fitful gusts of wind 
drove sheets of rain against the thin walls of the 
boarded cottage. There was nothing for us to do 
so we played another game ; we had played off and 
on ever since we got back to the cottage from dinner 
at Martin's. 

Four o'clock came. 

"Boys," I said, "this may be interesting but 
it is not enjoyable — not for a man in my position. 
Just thirty-four guests to supper; supper at six 
at the latest, possibly at half past five, and its now 
four, and absolutely the only thing in camp that's 
ever used in food is salt — a quart of salt! It's 
four o'clock, I'm going up to Martin's again." 

As I neared Mr. Martin's house I caught sight 
of him. 

"You got the groceries all right, didn't you? " 
he said with an air of confidence. 

"Groceries! What groceries? " I ventured in 
surprise. 

"Why the groceries you ordered. I put them 
down in the little building near the cottage — in the 
building where that auto is; I thought you would 
see them.'* 

"When? " 



AT PLEASANT POND 239 

"Well, about two hours ago, I should think; it 
didn't take me long to go after them. " 

Then followed a hurried trip back to the cottage; 
hurried instructions to the boys how to arrange the 
table; and some rather hurried activities which 
the boys called "hustling for supper." 



At five I was on the veranda at Martin's, and 
a few minutes later there was a sound of many 
voices in a rich harmony; the whole party of boys 
we'd been waiting for was marching to the music of 
their own song, and rounding the corner the hikers 
tramped down to head-quarters singing. 

But such a mess! They were wet through to the 
skin and must have been far from comfortable. 
But they sang, told incidents of the wayside, hung 
clothing in places where they might reasonably 
hope it would dry out by morning, and got ready 
for supper. 

"We're all here," said one of the boys "except 
Sam and his brother Harold. In Skowhegan Harold 
strayed away from the rest, Sam went to look for 
him, and before Sam found Harold the car started. " 

"And where are they now?" I asked. 

"No one knows; perhaps they will follow us but 
if they do they can't get here till tomorrow; it's 
awfully hard travelling." 

And less than ten minutes after that remark 
one of the boys exclaimed: 



240 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

" Well I'll be hanged if there ain't Sam and Harold. 
How did they get here this time of day? 

And it was true that when the boys sat down to 
supper Sam and Harold were with them. 

The first day had ended and nothing had hap- 
pened. 



There is a curious and tantalizing custom which 
seems to prevail among people who build cottages or 
camps. These parties, building for their own use 
and enjoyment, and ignoring the public, or that 
part of the public which may chance to rent the 
camp or cottage in the future, furnish their sum- 
mer outing place with odds and ends from their 
city homes. The cabinet organ which can no longer 
be used but which will add a homelike appearance 
and serve as a stand for bric-a-brac or as a side- 
board ; the rocking chair which has tremors because 
of age and use whenever anyone sits down in it; 
the table with one weak leg and a leaf which has a 
way of collapsing if more than two or three dishes 
are risked upon it ; the discarded clock that has been 
in the shed chamber without a solitary tick or 
movement of its hands for years but which looks 
as though it might tell the time of day — all these 
and other odd pieces are counted good enough for 
camp and probably they are. The line, however, 
should be drawn at discarded cook stoves; but I 
am not sure that it ever is or ever will be. 



AT PLEASANT POND 24I 

When a man builds a camp he digs out the old 
stove that has been on the dump heap for a year 
but in some way has escaped the junk dealer, 
treats it to a coat of blacking, props up the grate 
with a stone or piece of brick, and declares it is 
just the thing. 

And it is just the thing; it is just the thing that 
should be continued on its way to the junk dealer, 
or be taken into the middle of the lake and dropped 
overboard. There should be at least one new 
thing in a camp or summer cottage ; that new thing 
should be the cook stove. 

Some of the cottages at Pleasant Pond, occupied 
by the boys, had been furnished on the above prin- 
ciple, and the discarded cook stove had been 
installed in them. One stove had no hinges on the 
front door; could anything be a more hopeless 
proposition when biscuits and other things are 
contemplated? 

One stove refused to make any show of that very 
necessary adjunct called a "draft;" it could not 
be made to draw, and smoke that would make 
some boys cough and all weep would pour out from 
the cracks and holes in the cast iron. The first 
batch of biscuits from this particular stove was 
covered with a thick coat of ashes which had show- 
ered down from a big crevice back of the fire box. 

Half a dozen fellows tried their skill on that 
stove and as they did it they talked and said many 
uncomplimentary things, but it was as unfeeling 
17 



M^ ROUGHING tT WITH BOYS 

and as unresponsive as a cast iron object can be. 
Some condemned it and consigned it ; some deplored 
the situation and wondered what we were going to 
do ; some offered suggestions as to the way in which 
the situation might be remedied. 

But it was not yet a hopeless task because — well, 
because Tenney Allen had not tried his hand at it. 
And after a while Tenney began to meddle. He 
put in the stove splinters, whittled with a dull 
knife from a pine stick; he lighted matches; he did 
all the things that the others had done before him, 
and at one time it looked as though Tenney had 
triumphed. 

But it was not more than half an hour before 
one of the boys passing the door, paused, looked in 
and inquired : 

"How's your fire, Tenney?" 

And Tenney poked the ashes and held up the 
wooden poker whose end smoked slightly and 
replied : 

" It's so as to be out, thank you." 



The days passed pleasantly ; by this I mean that 
the boys were in good spirits, and nothing occurred 
to mar their happiness, but I do not mean that there 
were no rainy days. When one plans for a trip, 
he counts on pleasant weather, but rainy days have 
their compensation; a camp without a wet day is 
an incomplete outing. 



AT PLEASANT POND 243 

North Mountain was directly across the lake 
from our camp, and a trip was to be made to the 
summit. The first clear day was chosen for this, 
and it proved to be a better day for the purpose than 
any that followed. There were boats enough 
available to take only half the party across the lake 
two miles to the foot of the mountain, so it became 
necessary to make two trips. The party that went 
in the boats first were to start in to climb as soon 
as they reached the shore, while one boy in each 
boat returned for the other fellows. 

It was not good scouting, I admit, but as we 
were leaving camp I provided myself with a teacup 
of flour in a small reel box; this was used for the 
benefit of the party which was to follow because 
no one in the second party had ever been on the 
mountain. Good scouting would have depended 
upon foot-prints, broken twigs, and similar scout 
signs, but our one object was to get to the top of the 
mountain while the atmosphere was clear, and to 
make the arrival of the other party sure and safe, 
at as early a moment as possible. So when there 
was a turn on the mountain side, and any possi- 
bility of the second party missing the trail, a dash of 
the white flour was a token which way to take; 
other parties might have broken twigs that day or 
made foot-prints, but no one else was using flour 
for guiding purposes. 

"I didn't know there was anything so beautiful," 



244 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

exclaimed one of the boys as he stood on the summit 
of North Mountain that day. 

"You will remember," I remarked, "that I 
spoke in the Chapel one Sunday of my first trip 
up this mountain, and that, reaching the top I 
thought of myself as a tiny insect on the top of a 
thimble, in the middle of a saucer; the thimble is 
North Mountain, the rim of the saucer is the hori- 
zon, which in every direction is broken and irreg- 
ular with mountains." 

On the mountain top we met unexpected con- 
ditions. We were prepared to encounter mos- 
quitoes and black flies on the way up the moun- 
tain, because at that season they abound in the 
thick Maine woods, but we expected to be undis- 
turbed on the bare granite summit. The reverse 
of our expectation was our real experience ; for we 
encountered practically no flies or mosquitoes on 
the way, but at the summit swarms of the tiniest 
insects — probably the "midgets" of the white 
folk, and the "no-see-ums" of the Indians — at- 
tacked us. Sometimes a puffy breeze would give 
us relief for a minute or two minutes, but no 
longer. We waited patiently for the second party 
to arrive, and while waiting the pests increased, 
until "Ding-Ding Walker" in desperation ex- 
claimed : 

"I'll show you where I'll go and get out of the 
way of these pesky critters," and taking off his 
sweater he jumped from a granite ledge into a hoi- 



AT PLEASANT POND 245 

low where many blueberry bushes were growing, and 
put his sweater over his head. 

"O, you simpleton," I shouted, "don't you know 
that those sheltered bushy places are where all these 
flies came from?" 

"Well, if they came from here and are up there 
with you, they are not down here now, are they?" 
and he crouched still lower into the bushes and 
under the sweater; but only for a moment, because 
it took him a short time to learn that that clump 
of bushes had yielded only a small portion of what it 
possessed in the line of midgets and mosquitoes, 
and he beat a hasty journey to a granite footing 
again. 

The second party arrived under the leadership 
of Mr. Scott, and the first party lingered on the 
mountain long enough to hear their exclamations 
of surprise and delight as they looked in various 
directions, and recognized Mt. Washington, the 
"Bigelows," the "Spencers," Baker, Bald, Kineo, 
Elephant, Moxie, and others, and then the first 
party descended to the boats. 

Under Scott's leadership the second party lin- 
gered longer, and when they descended they had 
prepared a birch roll containing the names of the 
party, had selected a spot a stated number of feet 
north of the summit and had buried it with certain 
rites and ceremonies, to be uncovered by any mem- 
bers of the party who may chance to visit the place 
in coming years. 



246 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

On the way home a few trout were caught; the 
return was made by both parties in ample time to 
prepare for supper and for an enjoyable evening. 
It had been a great day for Good Will boys; but 
nothing had happened. 

To have made the day interesting, my section 
might have been confronted when near the top 
of the mountain by a group of boys, demanding 
from whence we came and who we were; and we 
should have suddenly bethought ourselves of 
rumors of the existence of a camp of boy out-laws 
on the east side of the mountain. A description 
of the encounter between these youthful des- 
peradoes infesting the east side of the mountain 
and making predatory trips to Carratunk and Mos- 
quito Landing would have made interesting read- 
ing; some real thrills could be put in and boys 
would sit up nights to read the story. 

After a war of words, the Good Will boys and 
the boy desperadoes might have come to blows, 
and in the encounter Chapman might have had 
his ankle sprained; Tucker in a fierce encounter 
with the leader of the desperadoes might have 
received a telling blow in the eye, making him 
stagger for a moment and lean against a birch tree 
to regain balance and poise for another encounter, 
and then Good Will — the first section — rallying 
its forces, might have put the desperadoes to 
flight, and as they disappeared down the precipi- 
tous east side of North Mountain the leader might 



AT PLEASANT POND 247 

have brandished his jack knife and vowed ven- 
geance. 

Then the Good Will boys — first section — might 
have got together and after talking it over, have 
solemnly pledged themselves not to tell section 
number two anything about their thrilling adven- 
tures until all were back in camp, and Chapman 
and Tucker might have been concealed in the 
bushes when section two arrived and not be missed, 
because, you see if they should notice Chapman's 
predicament and Tucker's black eye some explana- 
tion would be expected. 

Then section one might have returned to camp, 
and the second section, all unsuspecting and happy 
like, might have been wending their way down the 
mountain side, only to be suddenly confronted by 
the leader of the boy bandits, who had been routed 
by section one, and he might have explained that 
he and his recruited desperadoes were going to take 
vengeance then and there for their defeat earlier 
in the afternoon. Then could follow the fiercest 
bloodiest encounter that ever was on North Moun- 
tain, in which the youthful desperadoes would have 
seized Earl Ormsby, and have led him, with his 
hands tied, into the fastnesses of the east side of the 
mountain. 

In the meantime section one would have returned 
to camp, and we would have prepared supper and 
waited — waited for section two! The sun would 
set ; the west would be lighted up with the glow of 



248 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

the dying day, and then as the dusk changed to 
darkness and the stars came out one by one, fear 
and consternation would brood over the camp. We 
would wait for the return of section two ; we would 
conjecture as to whether they had lost their way or 
whether — oh the horrible suspicion! — they had 
been attacked by that camp of hostile, desperate 
boys, over the mountain. 

Then, as the fires got low in the broken cook stoves 
and the supper got cold on the tables and gloom 
filled every heart, some one might have descried 
the outline of three rowboats, half across the pond, 
moving slowly toward us, but refusing to answer 
our shouts and cheers. Like a funeral cortege the 
boats might have moved toward the landing, and 
when the boys got out, Scott should approach me 
and say : 

"Sir, I bring grewsome tidings; disaster has 
overtaken us ; sorrow is in camp. On our way down 
North Mountain we were attacked by a band of 
boy bandits, who, rumor says have been camping 
on the east side these many days. The leader told 
us that his forces had suffered defeat in an encoun- 
ter with Good Will boys, and he had sworn ven- 
geance, and proposed to get even. We suffered 
many injuries, but alas, in the end they seized 
Ormsby, and hold him in the fastnesses of the east 
side of the mountain." 

Then it would be my duty to order a camp fire, 
in order that we might hold a council, and the 



AT PLEASANT POND 249 

council would last till near midnight and, when it 
ended, definite plans would have been laid to res- 
cue Ormsby. The plans would involve the setting 
of a watch, the awakening of the entire camp at 
daybreak, breakfast at 5.30, and a start of the whole 
camp for the rescue of the unfortunate captive. 
Here the story might be left to be "continued in 
our next." 

This, with details skilfully worked out, would 
make an interesting camp incident; such things 
happen in camp stories, but not in real camps. 
As the Good Will camp was a real one, we had a 
pleasant evening, and retired early. Another day 
was gone and nothing had happened. 



The days were passing rapidly and each brought 
its share of interest. There were no serious acci- 
dents ; there were many pleasing incidents ; life was 
worth living at Pleasant Pond. 

"Yes," I said to Mozart in reply to a question, 
one evening, "I'll go. I don't want to prevent any 
boy going out, but if you are sure that one of the 
boats will not be wanted by any one else, we will 
start early tomorrow morning and go across the 
pond. But I shall fish for salmon; they say there 
are salmon in this pond, but the boys are not likely 
to get any. Mozart, we'll go." 

And early the next morning Mozart and I went 
quietly to the shore and chose a boat. 



250 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

"We'll make it twenty minutes each," I said; 
"you row twenty minutes and I'll troll; then I 
row twenty minutes and you troll." 

So Mozart took the oars. 

We were a quiet couple that morning; that is, we 
were quiet for the first twenty minutes. There was 
a rhythm about the slow stroke of the oars in 
Mozart's hands which would have put us to sleep 
had we been in positions of ease instead of sitting 
upright and without support for our backs. The 
sun was not yet high enough so the direct rays could 
reach us, for North Mountain was a barrier; but 
here and there from the still surface of the pond 
little clouds of mist arose. 

"I can hear the fellows moving in camp," said 
Mozart, as he rowed slowly and listened to the 
rhythmic sound of the oars: "I heard a tin pan 
drop on the floor; I guess they heard us start." 

But not much was passing between us, and at 
length I said : 

"Mosey, time's up and here's where we change; 
I row and you fish. Let me get my position first 
and then you move; two should not be moving 
about in a boat like this at the same time;" and in 
a minute I had the oars and Mozart was holding 
the rod. 

"What was that story the kids were laughing 
about last night; didn't you tell a story just before 
the lights were out?" 

"I don't know which you mean," I replied, "but 



AT PLEASANT POND 251 

I'll guess it is one that 'tis said President Garfield 
used to tell on himself. It was when he was a 
student in college and he and three of his class- 
mates were driving through the country. They 
saw an old man standing in a field near the road. 
He was tall, long-bearded, white-headed — a patri- 
archal looking farmer — do you know what patri- 
archal means, Mosey? Well, there was that about 
him which made them think of the old men, the 
heads of families in Old Testament times. They 
stopped and one of the students addressing the 
old man said : 

'Good morning. Father Abraham.' 
Another student said: 
' ' Good morning, Father Isaac' 
Another student said : 
'Good morning, Father Jacob.' 
"Then they listened to learn what the man — the 
'old farmer' — as the story goes, would say, and 
he said : 

"'My friends, I am not your Father Abraham; 
I am not your Father Isaac; I am not your Father 
Jacob. I am Saul, the son of Kish, whose father 
sent him to — '" 

Whish! Whiz-z-z ! ! Splash ! ! ! 

"Stop, stop," shouted Mozart: "I'm caught on a 
rock ; back water — back — ' ' 

"Caught on nothing," I exclaimed. "You've 
got a strike. Mosey, you've got a strike. Careful, 
or you'll lose him; careful, I say." 



252 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

Something like twenty yards from the boat a 
fish had taken the bait, broke water, and for an 
instant it seemed as though the rod which Mosey 
was handUng in a clumsy manner, would snap 
asunder. 

" Let him have it slowly, now, let him have it, but 
don't—" 

"What, let him go away," said Mosey, appeal- 
ingly. "Can't I get him?" 

"Get him? I don't know. Mosey, whether you 
can get him or not. You can't yank him in the way 
you would a measley chub or a yellow perch ; what 
you must do is to manage your reel so your line 
is always taut — " 

"Taut?" queried the boy. 

"Yes, taut; or tight, if you understand better; 
I mean if you let the line get slack — if he comes 
toward you and you don't reel in fast enough, or if 
you don't keep your hand on the reel and the line 
goes out too fast and — " 

"Oh, there — lost," exclaimed Mozart, as the 
fish broke water; the line slacked as the creature 
disappeared beneath the surface and evidently 
headed toward the boat. A look of dismay spread 
over Mosey's features. 

"If I only could have got that fish — I have got 
him," he shrieked, as the line tightened again, and 
the reel whizzed and half a dozen yards of line went 
out; "I thought I'd lost him." 

"Mozart," I said slowly, "if you get excited and 



AT PLEASANT POND 253 

go to threshing about in this boat you'll lose the 
biggest and best fish that was ever hooked in this 
pond. See? Well, then, keep cool. If he pulls 
too hard, don't let him break the line; give it to 
him, but just keep it taut, that's all. See?" 

We sat in the boat ; for moments at a time neither 
of us would speak as the contest went sullenly on. 
The fish, sometimes twenty yards, sometimes forty 
yards, and once so near fifty yards that I almost 
despaired, for the reel carried only that length of 
line. 

I had nothing to do but watch Mozart ; but occa- 
sionally I could not resist the temptation to make 
some suggestion. Mozart was to capture it or lose 
it; that much I settled when early in the contest 
he had once begged me to take the rod, because he 
feared he could not save the fish. 

"Say," he exclaimed in a mock attempt at 
secrecy, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, "say, 
if I do catch this fellow, won't the kids' eyes bulge, 
when we go ashore?" 

Out in the pond midway between the two shores 
while the battle twixt finny tactics and youthful 
ambition was in progress, I became conscious that a 
new bond of friendship between Mozart and I had 
suddenly been created and was growing. "Mo- 
sey" — I had never called him "Mosey" till that 
morning — and I had been friends since the day 
when, tow-headed and freckled, he arrived at Good 
Will and, taking him by the hand, I said: " I'm glad 



254 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

to see you." I had watched him from his twelfth 
year till now he was a youth of sixteen, and we 
had spent happy hours together. But this was a 
new experience; we were fishing together; and 
though the fish now showing his glossy back above 
water as he silently tugged, and now moving majes- 
tically toward the bottom, was on Mosey's line, we 
were sharing the battle, the hope of success, the 
fear of loss, and, should he finally reach the boat, 
he would be — not "mine," nor ''Mosey's," but 
"ours." 

"It's just as I told you, Mosey,' I exclaimed, 
"it's just as I told you; there's nothing like it. 
This is ideal. Better take it all in; better think of 
it now while it's passing and then you can recall it 
later; the sun just above the mountain; the little 
wavelets as a breeze ripples the water here and 
there; the blue smoke coming up from that camp 
over yonder; great heron silently winging his way 
northward; solitary loon breaking the silence at 
intervals over in the cove ; vireos warbling in the 
alders on the shore; reel clicking as our unwilling 
guest careens under the surface ; azure sky over our 
heads with a fleecy cloud here and there; Bigelow 
Mountains in the distance, hazy and dignified; 
white birches reflected in the liquid depths close 
in shore; sandpiper winging his way like lightning 
past us on his way to the beach; columbines in 
bloom; joy in my heart; hope in yours — say, Mosey, 
Mosey, my boy, it's all here and it's great; we'll 



AT PLEASANT POND 255 

never forget it and — careful, boy, careful; now, I'll 
get the net, for your game is getting tired; don't 
reel in too fast. See his back; that fish will weigh 
six pounds if he weighs an ounce, and it's a land- 
locked salmon. Mosey, sure as you're born. You 
remember I looked at my watch just after you 
hooked him; well, it was twenty-five minutes ago, 
and I don't blame you for wishing he was in the 
boat. Move him now if you can over this way 
and I'll put the net under and — " 

' ' Whizz-zz-zz — ' ' 

Mosey had worked skillfully ; he had surprised me 
by his coolness and his willingness to act upon any 
suggestion I might make. The fish had shown signs 
of weariness, and was at last within six or eight feet 
of the boat, with enough of his shining back out 
of the water to show us his size. It was not till I 
reached out the net that he seemed to get a new 
hold on life, and suddenly started for a fresh battle, 
and reeled out the line till he was at least fifteen 
yards from the boat again, to be slowly and cau- 
tiously reeled back again. 

*'How long is this going to last?" said Mosey, 
appealingly. 

"Till you get that fish into the boat, I hope," 
was my quick response, "and in my judgment it 
will take ten minutes longer; and not only that, my 
boy, it will be the easiest thing in the world to lose 
him now if you get a little careless. No, Mosey, 
I'll not do it. It's kind of you to offer to let me 



^56 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

take the rod and finish the task, but it's your fish 
or no one's till it's caught, and then it will be 
'ours,' See?" 

And it did take fifteen minutes longer, and five 
minutes added to that ; then the net was under the 
fish and as I lifted it over the side he flopped out 
of the net and fell — into the boat. 

In that last movement the hook fell out of the 
salmon's mouth, showing that he had been so 
slightly hooked that anyone might have been par- 
doned for losing him; a wrong move on Mosey's 
part and we would have gone back to camp empty 
handed. But a salmon weighing six and a quarter 
pounds made Mosey high line; only one or two 
other salmon were caught on the trip and those 
weighed less than two pounds each. 

Of course Mozart's fish created a sensation in 
camp ; its capture was just an incident of camp life — 
that was all. 

The next day the boys started for home; hiked 
to Bingham, took the train for Madison, where 
they had dinner, and reached home at a seasonable 
hour. And though nothing particular had happened, 
the boys declared, as boys are quite likely to do, 
that it was the "best hike yet. " 



XI 

A CAMP CHOWDER 

Twenty boys started, one day in August, for 
the east side of Sebasticook Lake, nearly thirty 
miles from Good Will Farm. There was one man 
in the party. The first team took tents and provi- 
sions and about a dozen boys. The other team 
took the remainder of the boys and the man. The 
first team started an hour in advance, and the driver 
was to ascertain the way, and whenever there were 
two roads, he was to scatter fragments of paper on 
the road he had taken. This plan worked admir- 
ably until Palmyra was reached. At this place, 
the first party took the road to Newport Village 
and scattered the usual papers in the road. The 
man who was with the boys, arriving twenty min- 
utes later, refused to follow the lead, and went 
with the second party to North Newport. The 
town of Newport is like a basket — a large hole with 
a rim around it. Sebasticook Lake is the hole. 
What land there is in the town is the rim. So one 
party went half way round the lake, on the rim, 
going south ; the other party went half way round 
going to the north, and they met within an hour of 
each other at the desired destination. Five post- 
ofiices were passed on the way, and at each ofiice a 
18 257 



258 ROUGHING It WITH BOYS 

postal-card was mailed to the folks at home saying 
that "nothing had happened. " 

Now White was in one of the parties. This 
White is a naturalist and dotes on hornets. On the 
way to the lake, he discovered a hornets' nest in a 
tall tree by the roadside and threw stones at it. 
The hornets were much disturbed, but in their 
anger did not even catch a glimpse of their boyish 
persecutor. He escaped. The next morning, near 
the camp, he discovered another hornets' nest. 
He threw some more stones. The hornets dis- 
covered him and one of them hit him between the 
eyes. It was a great victory for the hornet. White 
says it bumped right against him. The face of the 
vanquished began to swell. It kept on swelling. 
He was a "sight. " Anyone who had a sense of the 
ludicrous would smile as often as he looked at 
White. If White saw anyone smiling at him, he 
would smile also. And when anyone saw White's 
dark and distorted features wreathed with a smile, 
it didn't make any difference whether he had a 
sense of the ludicrous or not, he had to laugh, be- 
cause he couldn't help it. White had been stung 
five times that summer — four times by bees and 
once by a hornet. It was interesting to hear him 
give particulars. The most pathetic of the five 
cases, probably, was when Mr. Cofiin was attend- 
ing to a swarm of bees at Good Will Farm and 
wanted the queen caught. The queen bee doesn't 
sting, and she can be easily distinguished by her 



A CAMP CHOWDER 259 

form. White saw the queen and intended to pick 
her up, but he took hold of the wrong bee. The 
one he caught was a working bee. He worked in 
his own interests and against White's comfort. 
But White said he doesn't mind getting stung much 
anyway. 

The boys expected to live in tents and have the 
use of a small cottage for cooking. Sammie and 
Frank were the cooks. But the former occupants 
of the cottage were to stay two days longer. So 
Sammie cooked on an ancient stove, in an opening, 
under a big maple tree. There were some very 
unpopular things in the grove. They all belong to 
the same family. To scientists, individual mem- 
bers are known as Mephitis Mephitica. People 
void of scientific discernment call them skunks. 
Now any number of these things — Mephitica — are 
as sweet as kittens and entirely harmless unless dis- 
turbed. If attacked, or annoyed in any way, they 
resort at once to powerful methods of self defense. 
This is reasonable. The owner of the grove asked 
us not to disturb them. He said two fishermen 
were camping there, a few days before, and one 
day, when they came back from fishing, there was 
one of these things — a Mephitica — in the tent. 
They waited for him to look around a bit, and then 
he came out and went away. We promised we 
wouldn't disturb them, if we saw them in the tent 
or anywhere. That very night Henry was lying 
awake in his tent, when one of them came in and 



260 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

went around him twice and then went out. Henry 
lay still; didn't dare move a muscle, though it is 
understood that the hair on Henry's head moved — 
stood up straight. It's simply blood-curdling to 
have wild beasts prowling around you in the woods, 
at night, when you can't do a thing. 

The next day a party came into the grove to stay 
one night and two days. The party consisted of 
several men and women and a very small boy. 
They were to occupy a tent which stood a few feet 
from Sammie's cook stove. They drove right 
along side the opening in the woods, unharnessed 
the horses and hitched them beside the carriages, 
only a few feet from the stove and dining table. 
So Sammie and Frank had two carriages and a pair 
of horses in the kitchen. We didn't like it, but as 
it was only for one day we decided not to say much. 
The man who was with the boys wanted to shave. 
He said we had a right to our own kitchen; so he 
made one of the carriages a dressing room, spread 
his shaving utensils on the cushion of the other, 
hung a mirror on a tree and shaved himself, while 
one of the horses meekly looked over his shoulder. 
It was the first time that horse ever saw himself in 
a looking glass. And when night came the very 
small boy said: 

"Mama, where are we going to sleep? " 
The mother said: "In the tent," and the very 
small boy looked at the cook stove, our table, the 
two carriages, the horses, our wood-pile, and the 



A CAMP CHOWDER 261 

tent, all huddled together in that opening, when 
there was room — lots of room — elsewhere, and he 
said: 

"Mama, I don't want to sleep in a barn-yard." 
We all felt like saying something; but we held 
our peace. 

We were going to have a chowder for supper 
that night. The fish were dressed. A man had 
promised to bring us a barrel of crackers and a 
peck of onions. Chowder was to be served at five 
o'clock. In the afternoon a very dark cloud ap- 
peared in the west. It promised a heavy shower. 
At half past three the cloud seemed to burst. The 
rain came down in torrents. The canvas tents 
were so dry that they were like sieves. The water 
came through in little showers. The boys gath- 
ered their blankets together in piles, and sat on 
them to keep them dry, but the straw got very wet. 
Hail fell, until, around the tent, the ground was 
white. It stopped raining at five o'clock, which 
was supper time. There was not a dry stick of 
wood or piece of paper in the camp. The stove 
did not look as though it had ever been dry. The 
ash box, filled with ashes and rain water, looked 
like a tank of gray kalsomine, mixed, and ready 
for use. We sent a boy up to the man who was to 
get the barrel of crackers, the peck of onions and 
the Boston daily. Sammie and Frank tried to 
start a fire in the wet stove. The man who was with 
the boys helped. They got the fire started and it 



262 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

went out. They tried again. Two boys peeled 
the potatoes. The fire got under way. The pork 
was fried in the bottom of the kettle. It looked 
very bright for a chowder by 6.30. Then the boy 
came back. He brought the Boston daily and 
said that when the man got to the village he didn't 
know what kind of crackers we wanted and so he 
didn't get any, and for some reason, he concluded 
not to get the onions either. This was worse than 
the shower; but we said "never mind" we would 
have the chowder anyway, for we were cold and 
wet and we must have a hot supper. So the fish 
and potatoes were put into the kettle, and hot 
water was added. Thirteen boys came from the 
tents to watch. Now there is an adage that "a 
watched pot never boils," but when a boy is cold, 
wet, and hungry, and the crackers and onions 
haven't come, and supper is already two hours 
late, he doesn't take any stock in adages. To him 
proverbs are without meaning. They watched; 
but the kettle didn't boil. Then two boys shouted 
that one of those things — Mephitica — was up in 
the woods by the fence cleaning his fur, and the 
thirteen boys rushed up to see it. Then they came 
back with the other two and the fifteen gathered 
around that kettle to see it boil. And the water 
in the kettle was only milk warm. Then Frank and 
Sammie put in more wet wood, and two more 
boys joined the group, so there were nineteen boys 
and a man watching the kettle. Night had come 



A CAMP CHOWDER 263 

on; it was bed-time; the temperature of the water 
was near boiling; but it dawned on the watchers 
that there was no chowder for them that night. 
It was decided to have supper of cold hasty pud- 
ding and molasses. There was not a cross word 
nor a grumble heard. Supper was eaten and the 
boys retired. Sammie and Frank were to start 
early in the morning, the chowder was to be com- 
pleted and was to be served smoking hot. 

There was a dog in the grove, with the party who 
had hitched their horses in our kitchen, and we 
did not dare think what would happen if he should 
meddle with that chowder in the night. So the 
big kettle was placed on one end of the long, rickety 
table, carefully covered and left till morning. On 
the table was a collection of tin cups, plates, spoons, 
etc. Everybody slept. The man who was with 
the boys dreamed a dream. He was at a church 
fair, and he was very hungry. He had ordered 
a dish of ice cream, as appetizing to look at as any- 
thing that ever graced a table at a church fair. He 
was just raising the first spoonful of the tempting 
food to his lips when he awoke and for a moment 
wondered why. Then he heard boys in one of the 
other tents talking, and Fred, the boy who was 
nearest him in his own tent, said : 

"Did you hear that noise? " 

"No," said the man, "what noise was It? " 

"An awful noise — a thud and a rattling of tin 
dishes. That old table where we've been eating 



2^4 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

has broken down. There must have been some- 
thing heavy on it or else a dog jumped up on it or 
something." 

It is not probable that there is any single word 
in our language that could have done satisfactory 
duty as an expletive for the occasion. If there is, 
that man had never heard it. For a full minute 
he did not speak. Then he said, speaking with 
solemnity : 

"Fred, it's that chowder — our breakfast. I put 
it up on the table myself to save it. It was too 
heavy wasn't it? I think I can see it now. The 
potatoes and fish are scattered all over the ground, 
and the kettle's bottom side up; and it hadn't 
even boiled." 

For a minute or two there was absolute silence — 
the silence of the woods at midnight. Fred and 
the man were in deep thought. Then the ludicrous 
situation seemed to dawn upon both at the same 
time. They lay side by side on their bed of damp 
straw, and made no attempt to restrain a fit of 
boisterous laughter. 

After awhile, the man decided what he would 
do. At an early hour he would dispatch a boy to 
the nearest farm-house for eggs, and these should 
be the basis of a breakfast, in place of the chowder. 
Then he slept again. When he awoke it was light. 
A gentle breeze moved in the thick maple foliage 
above the tent. The sunlight was struggling be- 
tween the branches and falling in bright, movable 



A CAMP CHOWDER 265 

spots on the canvas roof of the damp tent. Boys' 
voices could be heard down by the stove. 

"Sammie," he shouted, "Sammie! " 

Sammie's smiling face appeared at the entrance 
of the tent. 

"How about the breakfast? " asked the man. 

''It's all right," said Sammie. ''That noise in 
the night wasn't the table at all. It was a dead 
tree that fell over near the tent. The chowder's 
safe and it's all cooked. The man who didn't get 
the crackers yesterday, started at four o'clock this 
morning and the barrel of crackers and the onions 
are here, and I've put some of the onions in the 
chowder." 

Now, my reader, such a chowder as that was! 
You never ate one just like it. You probably 
never will. To make such a chowder you must 
have a thunder shower and a hail storm; you must 
order a barrel of crackers and a peck of onions, 
and after waiting several hours for them, you must 
be told you can't have them, and be offered a 
Boston daily paper instead. You must have a wet 
stove and a lot of w^et wood ; you must have twenty 
boys watch it an hour and twenty minutes, while 
the darkness of an August night gathers in the 
woods; you must then eat cold hasty pudding and 
molasses for supper and leave the chowder to be 
completed in the morning; you must wake up in 
the middle of the night and be convinced that the 
chowder is spilled upon the ground and the kettle 



266 ROUGHING IT WITH BOYS 

bottom side up; you must give up the chowder 
entirely and be resigned to your fate; then the 
chowder must be returned to you in the morning 
with crackers and onions added ; and you must eat 
it under the spreading maple trees where you can 
hear the weird cry of the loon upon the lake and the 
harmonies of the song thrush in the adjacent thicket; 
and you must have nineteen hungry boys to eat 
with you; and you must sit down to the table out 
of doors and eat with dishes of tin and after the 
blessing has been asked you must see Sammie 
standing at the head of the table with the kettle of 
steaming food before him and a ladle in his hand; 
and you must say as you pass him your tin plate: 
"Some of the chowder, please, Sammie;" and you 
must watch him fill your plate and hand it back to 
you hot and savory. It's the only way you can 
ever get a chowder that will taste just like that; 
and as for the man who was with the boys, he never 
expects to taste the like again. 



